Psychic is My Voice

Psychic is My Voice

There are currents running through my mind,

Not mine alone, yet I carry them,

Signals that arrive without warning,

Clearer than thought, sharper than memory,

They speak without sound, without form,

Yet I understand them completely.

I feel what is not said aloud,

The weight behind a quiet face,

The fracture hidden in a steady tone,

The truth beneath rehearsed calm,

It reaches me before it reaches words,

Before even they know what they feel.

There are visions that flicker and vanish,

Not dreams, yet not waking either,

Fragments of something just beyond reach,

Moments that press against time itself,

And I stand between what is and what comes,

Listening to the space in between.

This is not something I chose,

It arrived like a tide I could not stop,

Pulling me deeper into knowing,

Into a language without boundaries,

Where emotion becomes a compass,

And intuition becomes sight.

Sometimes it is too much to hold,

Too many voices without names,

Too many truths without proof,

Yet I cannot turn away from it,

Because it is not separate from me,

It is the way my soul speaks.

So I carry it, this unseen gift,

This burden that feels like both light and shadow,

A voice that is not heard, yet always speaking,

Guiding me through what cannot be explained,

Until I become the silence that listens,

And the answer that was always there.

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