You spend your whole life trying to hear your voice as if you were a stranger to it;

as if you do not hear it every day in your car,
and in the shower,
and quietly in your room at night,
in the corner while working a crummy retail job

You spend most of your life hushing it down
so that now, you can barely tell the sound
of your voice,
ringing loud
in a melody

You spend most of your life wondering if it is a gift worth sharing
if it would sound different in someone else’s ears;
would make a difference in someone else’s life

And then if it is all over,
would you have wished that you’d have just sung?

But you say
it is just my voice
it is nothing special;
And what if that is true?
Is it possible to love something and be horrid at it? 
But
does it matter how horrid you are if you love it?

But some days you don’t love it, right?
You wish you sounded different,
wish you could do what you never could to this point—
Let your voice 
ring loud 
in a melody. 

JG