The voice I use to speak my words

Is different from the one I need to be heard.

I found my way to yell and shout

Through the written terms I cannot live without.

I am a writer;

My pen the hose to douse my heated fire.

The blank page designed to release

The extreme limits that I’ve reached.

Where there’s a will, there a way,

As they always say; a horrible cliché.

Though true as can be,

That statement does not define me.

I know who I am

Though so many claim that I am a sham.

But they are unaware

Of the person I am underneath their stare.

My ink is blue and black and red

And the passion that leaps from my heart and my head.

But do you think I’m bothered

 By the way I speak? I’m awkward.

I am a poet;

Scrawling the emotions left unspoken.

I am Nikki on the out and inside

Full to the brim with poetic pride.

But, where there’s a will, there’s a voice

And where there’s a voice, there’s always noise

The way to be heard

The voice in my words.

I will always be able to speak my mind

Because my words can never be confined.

And I will yelp and scream and howl and shriek

Because my voice will never be tired and weak!