Where has my voice gone

Lookin in my closet, I see countless empty notebooks.

Notebooks that would be filled if I was still that 17 year old girl fighting to establish her identity.

Notebooks that would be filled with poems of love, songs of joy, and rants of pain.

Looking in my closet, I see countless empty notebooks.

Notebooks collecting dust.

Notebooks that have yet to feel the love of my pen as I spill emotions onto the pages.

Looking in my closet, I see countless empty notebooks.

Notebooks that have not experienced how beautiful my voice falls onto those pages.

Notebooks that will never taste how sweet my emotions really are.

Looking in that closet, at those countless empty notebooks I wonder.

Wonder where has my voice gone?

Is it somewhere collecting the same dust that had fallen on my notebooks.

Those empty notebooks sit there, along with a half empty picture book from an ex lover that reads "I hope one day I learn to be your perfcet man."

Perfect man? Is there really such a thing?

These questions rarely visited, like my words onto paper.

Those empty notebooks remain empty as I let my voice slip from me.

In a time where I feel most empowered, why is it that I can't let my words spill like kisses from a lover onto the body of those pages?

So I sit here, and wonder, where has my voice gone.

And why is it so hard to write from the heart

Those empty notebooks scare me, because I know if I write, I will have to visit things I have slowly repressed.

Things I know that will free me, liberate me.

So maybe with this poem, I can find my voice again.

So those empty notebooks will slowly fill with my love, pain, and happiness.

Healing those pieces of my soul that are fragmented.

Those empty notebooks call to me, cry to me, because they know they can heal me.