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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The subject of the voice: who speaks and what is actually heard. Can women really find a voice?

Submitted: November 09, 2006

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Submitted: November 09, 2006



I am voiceless,

I speak of trees and bark.

and in these ashes of conversation,

Where you watch me with round eyes,

I come to conclusions of our consequence:

You don't know me at all.


I am voiceless,

My face speaks for me.

I never knew I would feel this way,

And you don't even know it.


Patrick Kavanagh,

You may be King of all these things

That wealth fails to explain,

That language seeks to claim,

But I, I am voiceless.


I am voiceless against shards of dishes,

Against ideals of beauty.

I will be loved, and I am loved,

By those who want to love this,

But I am voiceless next to you.


I am empowered

Only in my choice between lipstick colours,

But, I am never beaten.


Only words which seek to undermine my face.

Only punctuation marks.

And then,

It stops.

© Copyright 2018 Nicola Jane. All rights reserved.

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