My voice is screaming, emphatic and strong,
Beating against the walls of my insides,
Vibrating, passionate, forceful as a gong,
Breaking through, out of any disguise.
That voice is striving to be heard,
But no pitch can depict its ardor,
The writer grabs a pen to write in a word,
To reveal a face behind the armour.
The writer tries to illustrate its eloquent rage,
Yet words cannot describe the sensation,
Often misread, lies covering a page,
Distortion in the minds of the thought-study nation.
The voice yells in fury, for its sentiment may not be captured on paper,
For each emotion is a constant combat for the fighter,
A constant struggle to capture feelings under a radar,
A constant battle with the writer.