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My Voice

I am a voice.
I am not seen,
nor am I played.
No one ever hears me.
No one ever listens.
Sometimes I sing softly,
I apologize if my voice is a bit raspy,
I know it isn’t a dynamic voice.

I am a voice.
I am not seen.
One day you will hear it.
You’ll look up one day and see me.
Hear my voice.
Maybe you’ll just ignore it,
but someone will listen.

I am a voice.
I am not seen,
nor am I played.
No one ever hears me.
No one ever listens.

You shouldn’t judge a voice by it’s sound.
I’m not the voice of a beauty queen,
fake sweet and talked through a smile,
stretched wide by vaseline.
I’m not the voice of a brainiac,
or a comedian.

If you listen to me,
You’ll hear the voice of an over-thinker,
hung up on the smallest of things,
with a long, detailed train of thought,
singing happily and giddily through a real smile,
sometimes humming sadly through a frown.
And occasionally,
completely silent.
Just the voice of a person.

I am a voice.
I am not seen.
Someone must hear the unheard.
I’ll only speak if I must,
I won’t speak too loudly.
My voice is just above a whisper,
but if you want to listen,
You might just hear a word escape my lips.
You might just hear a secret or two.



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