Poetic Weapon

Hi! I’m Young Poetic Queen.

I sing, I fight for justice and equality, and I write poetry.

I mostly write poems about racism, gender inequality, bullying, mental health, mental healing, spiritual healing, my faith in Jesus, my life and self love.

Also, I have a few pieces of writing dedicated to my cousin Yodael because he’s my inspiration to start writing poetry.

Those are what I usually write about but this poem is different.

This poem is not going to be about racism, or sexism, or about mental health.

This poem is about a microphone.

You see, before I became a poet I hated the mic.

Back then, I thought the microphone was my enemy.

Before I became a poet, I hated my voice.

I hated the sound my voice would make when I opened my mouth to speak.

Before I became a poet, I especially hated my voice when I would sing.

I hated how the microphone would project my voice so loud it would be louder than a bomb.

Before I became a poet, if the microphone was a person, I would’ve said “I hate you” every time I would see it.

If the mic was a person, I would’ve been angry at it for making my voice louder.

If the mic was a person, I would’ve been afraid of it because I saw it as my enemy.

Before I was a poet, I hid my voice behind the big crowd of voices.

Before I realized my voice was poetic, I thought it was ugly.

I thought my voice didn’t matter.

Before I became a poet, I never believed that I was born to be a poet.

I never believed that I was good enough to be a poet.

The idea of the microphone projecting my voice and spreading it everywhere scared me to death.

I hated the microphone and was afraid even more and more and more but....

Now that I’m a poet, I realized that God put power in my voice.

Now that I’m a poet, I love my beautiful powerful poetic voice.

Now that I’m a poet, I realize that I am Young Poetic Queen.

Now that I’m a poet, I realize that I’ve been wrong about the microphone all along.

If the mic was a person, I would give it a loving hug and tell it how much I appreciate it.

If the microphone was a person, I would apologize to it everyday.

I hated my voice so much that I thought the microphone was destroying me when it was really trying to help me see that my voice is powerful.

Now that I’m a poet, I’m thankful for the use of the mic as of the present.

Now that I’m a poet, I realize that the microphone was never my enemy. It’s my weapon.

After all, this whole time the microphone was trying to help me realize that my poetic voice is louder than a bomb.