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Our language
Word spill from our mouths
Each syllable comes without filtration
Passion in every last word.
Our souls freed from their cages
The weight holding our wings to our sides has been lifted allowing us to glide through the air.
We all speak one language made up of alliteration metaphors and similes
But our tongues click in different dialects making each poem precious and unique to its writer
Each paper holds a message to all that are listening
Covered in markings that were born in our minds
A treasure map to feelings that one cannot express
A code where one must look for clues.
Our words can be perplexing but they are filled with purpose
And listen closely and you may hear and unsung song
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This just kind of wrote itself. idk