It begins
Than a murmur.

It builds up.
Not like the shrillness of a scream
Or the bass boom of a bellow.

Not a shriek,
not quite a screech.
But the frustration echoes.

Not helpless as a cry,
Or like a weak bawl.
Not angry
Or crazy,
Though just a little bit, maybe.

Not as rude as a holler,
Or lusty like a howl.
Not feeble like a wail
Or as pitiful as a sob.

From the pit of the stomach
No, even from the tips of your toes.
It hurtles upwards through the body,
To puncture the lungs.

The message invades the trachea,
To surge out the mouth from
A Voice Box.

Clenched fists,
Teeth grating, unclenching
To let it out.

Breathe deeply in,
Exhale out.