Speak. Speak even when words elude you and you can’t make out your own voice from the cacophony of the crowd Speak even when you have forgotten what it is like to move your lips in a synced pattern to produce symphonies
Speak even when your voice box feels like it has been charred by the sheer intensity of silence.
Speak, even when you are told not to; especially when you are told not to.
Shout. Shout when they touch you, their fingers crawling over your skin, coloring it in tar and gravel
Shout when your soul feels like it’s being murdered, one stroke at a time, when it feels like you are being pulled apart at the seams
Shout when you feel like you are being smeared in filth that can’t be washed away
Shout, even if they tell you to keep quiet over it; especially if they tell you to keep quiet over it.
Squeal. Squeal when you want to, raising your voice to the highest octaves possible
Squeal when your soul can’t contain the happiness that is brimming within you, squeal else you might explode.
Squeal when you are walking on a pavement, even if they throw weird glances at you.
Squeal, even if they tell you it’s unbecoming; especially if they tell you it’s unbecoming.
Speak. Shout. Squeal.
Just as you smile, whisper and restrain.
Get it out.
Your pains and burns, your joys and dreams
Pour yourself on the canvas of the world.
Spill your soul, even if they tell you not to; especially if they tell you not to.
Say whatever you want, for, in the end, only you can say it