The Uns

Your tale beats a drum
to the rhythm that runs
deep in the sole of your veins. Undone

by the shake and the shun
of those who mean none
but harm when speaking your name.

So say, make it said,
the tale in your head,
that tells of the Voice speaking plain.

Make it sad. Make it fun,
Make it go. Make it come.
Let it live in this world without shame.

 

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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