Cluttered

paper voice.

i wrote this story a year ago, when all I wrote in was a simple red notebook that I named Blue. This notebook was very special to me, all my notebooks are. (I have 4 filled ones from 7th grade to now, High school) I never went a day without writing in these notebooks and losing them around school or accidentally leaving them in class and not realizing it; felt like I lost a fucking piece of me. Now I barely write and I'm spiraling downward but that's not the point here, this chapter explains why I even write in the first place, enjoy.

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My voice is gone.
It was stolen from me, ripped out before my very eyes.
He clawed and ripped my throat, pulled at. Shredding my vocal chords to their last bloody pieces.
I'm trying to regain it back;
my voice,
but I'm afraid he won't be so easy on me next time,

After-all..he may take my tongue.

All I have is a pencil and paper to speak through.
I know; pitiful, right? I'm choking on the remains of my bloody voice as it aches and tries to fix itself,
I can manage though.
I can manage my poor voice, I can read what I have to say.

I'm just a kid.
A kid who wants to speak for once.
I'm a kid who wants to be heard.

No.

I'm a kid who wants to be listened to.
But how will you listen if I have no voice?
Simple, my notebook, it's my only voice.
So please,
bare with me as I read to you through my pathetic voice.
I'm a kid who wants you to listen.
Hell, I'm a kid who wants their damn voice back.
I'm a kid who has so many things to say and only has little time time to talk.

..because you won't give me your time,

I'm only a kid after all.

But please.
Give me one chance,
hear my shakily written words,
listen to my paper voice.