My Voice

I don't know what my voice sounds like.

It is a chameleon

Of inferiority and insecurity,

Blame and mistrust.

It is tiny and squeaky and hurts my throat.

My voice has no breath behind it:

The intention is sucked in,

Not blown out.

My voice is unpredictable:

It scares me.

My voice is fitting in with

You, you and you.

It is strict control, serious,

Blackness and despair;

Grief and years of tears.

My voice is hiding,

Unable to speak.

Frustration and temptation.

A riddle to be solved - or not.

Perhaps it is a mystery!

A wonder of imagination,

Flights of experimentation,

A path of exploration

Asking Who - Am - I?

My voice is real and strong,

Powerful and true,

Deep as my core,

Light as hair.

My voice is an expression

Of who I am right now

Right now and right now,

Changing with me to suit

My mood, not you.

Yes hell can come out of my voice

But so can heaven:

Delight, love and laughter

Are mine for the speaking.

My voice is my passion,

Beliefs, values and trust:

Trust I offer up with each word.

It is song, deliciousness,

The whisperings of intimacy.

It is the roar of honesty

To stand back, get out,

No no NO!

Or a soft invitation:

Welcome.

Yes.

My voice is alive

With new found ways of being;

It is deeply precious.

My voice is who I am:

Changeable.