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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 04/29/2024
I Have A Voice
Born 2007, F, from Fort Myers, Florida, United StatesI used to be silent. Mute. I tried to speak but I could never get a sound out. Eventually, I could speak. I spoke, and I couldn't stop speaking. 12 months in a year adding up to 365 days, months contained 4 weeks each with there being 52 weeks in a year, 7 days in a week, 24 hours in a single day and 168 hours in 7 days, down to minutes and then down to seconds. I would spend years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds just speaking, talking. Nobody heard me. I was mute in everyone else's ears or they just didn't care. I would try speaking so much and try to get people's attentions but nobody would bat an ear, nevertheless even an eye would be in the opposite direction. I'm a ghost to everyone else, haunting their minds and causing people to think they're going insane. So insane I question myself about if I'm going insane.
I had a voice, but I never used it anymore. It went into hibernation for an extremely long winter and I had my doubts that the bear would wake up and roar loudly in hopes of nature hearing it again. I never spoke again. I just listened. I found it hard to listen, considering that even if I wasn't physically speaking, mentally I was. I was hearing my voice, speaking to me. Getting my attention. Not the world's. Me. As if it only mattered for me to hear it and it said "Screw the world. Listen to yourself." And I did.
I had no one else to communicate this voice too other than the pens we use to write with and then the pen passed it onto the paper in dark ink. Then the paper told the box and stayed with the box, but the box never told anyone. It kept it in. Inside the box were these little voices. The box was the last one to hear all these voices. I wouldn't let it. I locked it in a cage filled with other boxes and clothes and shoes and other items that you would find in this cage, just to others it was a closet. The box found it to be a prison. I thought of it as a way to keep my voices safe. A shelter. The box wanted out. The voices wanted out. They screamed. I screamed. But they never came out. And eventually they stopped.
Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds pass by. I find the box again. I find the voices again. I hear my voices and I let them be free. Not to be secrets held by the box, paper, pen and my brain. I started to speak with the voice that was kept away for so long.
I made the attempt to be heard again. I shared my voice in every kind of way possible. I talked to people, I sent them in letters to people, put them on social medias.
When people started to listen to my voice. I cried. When people had the same voice I kept hidden for so long. I sobbed. When people spoke my voice again in my words to spread my voice and my mind. I wailed, broke down, and sobbed. I weeped, I screamed. Not out of despair. Out of euphoria.
I have a voice. My voice was born from my mind. I speak with my voice. When people don't listen to my voice when I try to speak it to them, I yell until they can. I scream until they can. Until they will.
My voice is not a secret to be kept. It's meant to be heard.
Voices are not meant to be secrets. They're meant to be listened too and understood.
When they understood mine, I understood theirs. I understood theirs even when they were deaf to me.
When they became deaf again. I went numb.
Some people listen. Now one person does. One other person who isn't me.
That voice is the voice that speaks to my soul, just like how my voice speaks to theirs.
We listen. One day, the world will listen.
I have a voice. I speak with my voice. Now people listen to my voice and they understand my voice.
I have a voice. My voice has a voice.
I Have A Voice(Regan)
I used to be silent. Mute. I tried to speak but I could never get a sound out. Eventually, I could speak. I spoke, and I couldn't stop speaking. 12 months in a year adding up to 365 days, months contained 4 weeks each with there being 52 weeks in a year, 7 days in a week, 24 hours in a single day and 168 hours in 7 days, down to minutes and then down to seconds. I would spend years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds just speaking, talking. Nobody heard me. I was mute in everyone else's ears or they just didn't care. I would try speaking so much and try to get people's attentions but nobody would bat an ear, nevertheless even an eye would be in the opposite direction. I'm a ghost to everyone else, haunting their minds and causing people to think they're going insane. So insane I question myself about if I'm going insane.
I had a voice, but I never used it anymore. It went into hibernation for an extremely long winter and I had my doubts that the bear would wake up and roar loudly in hopes of nature hearing it again. I never spoke again. I just listened. I found it hard to listen, considering that even if I wasn't physically speaking, mentally I was. I was hearing my voice, speaking to me. Getting my attention. Not the world's. Me. As if it only mattered for me to hear it and it said "Screw the world. Listen to yourself." And I did.
I had no one else to communicate this voice too other than the pens we use to write with and then the pen passed it onto the paper in dark ink. Then the paper told the box and stayed with the box, but the box never told anyone. It kept it in. Inside the box were these little voices. The box was the last one to hear all these voices. I wouldn't let it. I locked it in a cage filled with other boxes and clothes and shoes and other items that you would find in this cage, just to others it was a closet. The box found it to be a prison. I thought of it as a way to keep my voices safe. A shelter. The box wanted out. The voices wanted out. They screamed. I screamed. But they never came out. And eventually they stopped.
Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds pass by. I find the box again. I find the voices again. I hear my voices and I let them be free. Not to be secrets held by the box, paper, pen and my brain. I started to speak with the voice that was kept away for so long.
I made the attempt to be heard again. I shared my voice in every kind of way possible. I talked to people, I sent them in letters to people, put them on social medias.
When people started to listen to my voice. I cried. When people had the same voice I kept hidden for so long. I sobbed. When people spoke my voice again in my words to spread my voice and my mind. I wailed, broke down, and sobbed. I weeped, I screamed. Not out of despair. Out of euphoria.
I have a voice. My voice was born from my mind. I speak with my voice. When people don't listen to my voice when I try to speak it to them, I yell until they can. I scream until they can. Until they will.
My voice is not a secret to be kept. It's meant to be heard.
Voices are not meant to be secrets. They're meant to be listened too and understood.
When they understood mine, I understood theirs. I understood theirs even when they were deaf to me.
When they became deaf again. I went numb.
Some people listen. Now one person does. One other person who isn't me.
That voice is the voice that speaks to my soul, just like how my voice speaks to theirs.
We listen. One day, the world will listen.
I have a voice. I speak with my voice. Now people listen to my voice and they understand my voice.
I have a voice. My voice has a voice.
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