An outrage; a mute, of self-doubt
Kept my voice from sounding.
A hideous garb of imperfection
Kept my feet in bounding.
I would take to corners
With a pen and a piece of paper,
And would write my heartbeat down,
The talking part I'd waiver.
There was an orator in there,
A speaker, a teller of stories.
Her lips were sealed though,
From speaking of creative glories.
There was that cage; the originale,
That kept the silence free.
Then dawned a season of expression,
And I let out the rhapsody.
I took myself by surprise
Words flew from paper to song.
I sang my success out loud
As I spoke in a world where I belong.
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