The words of those around me, I know,
are shallow still for all their false depth of character.
The words I keep from me, I know,
are deeply held on shallow shelves for easy reach.
I crave to only ever hear my voice, whispering
in the life I dance.
May I long forget the voices of others, weeding
the fruits from my tares.
Celebrate who I remembered I was and
who I’ve yet to become.
Bury the effigy molded of me and
who people hoped to destroy.
A yearning vibrates inside me, the
metronome in time with the sun.
I will keep its rhythm.