My words are caught up
in the tangled tangents of transformed thought.
My voice echoes
and dies
in an empty room filled with noise.
It makes me wonder,
makes my thoughts wander
as I consider
the pathetic possibility
that despite my desperate struggle
that has so long defined
every waking moment of my
waking mind,
I have no voice.
That though I speak
no one listens
or even cares to hear.
Maybe if I was louder
more outrageous
if I stepped up to the mic
with overpowering profanity
with the volume
raised to reduce
my audience to tears
for fear
their brains will melt out their ears,
maybe then they’ll hear.
Maybe then I’ll have a voice.


Then again. Perhaps not.
I can’t do such a thing.
I can’t.
I can’t be something other than me
if I tried then that thing you’d hear
would be some other voice.
Not mine.
I’d sell out for the sake of my pride
for the sake of saying I was heard.
I can’t.

So what now?
Am I resigned to lived
in Silent Exile?

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