Everyone’s trying to find their voice
Where did it go?
Do I have one?
Did I ever?
You can’t see what’s right in front of you
Your voice lives in your fearlessness
In the hope that he’ll kiss you
The courage to lean in, boy
The fear that it will all go terribly wrong
Your voice is that ringing in your head put down on paper
That singing in your heart released as song
It’s following your sinful nature
Without ever pondering remorse
It’s knowing what you know
And feeling what you feel
Showing love to strangers
And doing something real
Your voice was always in you
But they told you it was bad
You had to learn their language
Match their brand of sad
Your voice is a piercing madness
Not everyone will get it
And you don’t want everyone to get it
Their not getting it makes you more you
Your voice is angry sometimes
Blood-curdling in its timbre
Let it rage
Let insanity consume you
Your voice will whisper with grief
Tell you and others lies
It will attempt to dazzle for affection
Pandering for someone’s focus
Do not let it tell lies
This is the weakness of expression
Courage is standing strong in truth
Even if truth means vast depression
Your voice will shake and quiver
When someone sees into your soul
Put that person in your mouth
And suck on their sweetness
Let yourself be seen and consumed
Your voice is a child that must be nurtured
When shoved in a dark closet and fed dog food
The neighbors will see you as a fraud
Let them see you as a fraud
Own your fraudulence
They are afraid of their own perversions
Put yours out in the open
Your voice is everything disgusting about you
The dirty rag you used to clean up when you messed yourself
Hang your sheets out like trailer trash
Let yourself be trash
The landfills have a liberated heat to them that’s rising
Your voice is what you find while rummaging
It’s the egoless power of giving up
Surrender to what’s in front of you
Make that your God
Better than what they use to silence you
Pray to your own piss in the wind
It feels grim, your voice
But then the clouds clear
Your job is to draw the light that penetrates
To shout how it feels to be licked by angels
Your voice comes from seeing
Take the blocks out of your eyes
Tell us about how you never felt loved
Healing stands tall in terrible stories relived
Free your demons
They’ve sucked off your teet too long
The devil isn’t out there somewhere
He lives inside the memories you refuse to murder
Your voice is the blade which cuts your heart out
And hands it to another
The trust that they will be a good steward
The disregard that everything says they won’t
You’ll find your voice on the wind
It will be cold and uncomfortable
But you must sail into it
Your voice is not pretty
But it is raw in power
Untapped in potential
Filthy in richness
Don’t tell us what we need to hear
Tell us what you can’t not say
Bleed it onto paper
Or smear it across a bathroom wall
There is no truth
But there is solace
It’s found by screaming out the voices which rattle between your straw-stopped ears
Your voice isn’t perfect
Perfection is a myth
It is the hot water that takes too long to reach the shower head
It starts with frigid blasts that paralyze you
Don’t listen to anyone until you’ve shouted a million words
Don’t take advice
Live your life to learn your life
Wisdom is knowing you only know what you know
So tell us
We will roll our eyes at you
We don’t care about what you have to tell us
Tell us anyway
Your voice is for you
It is not for others
Others are not even real
They are projections of your failed hopes and dreams, calling you forward
Find your own clarity
And you will become transparent to us
You will become beacon-electricity
A light we flock towards to die
And in dying there is surrender
You taught us that
We gave up because you showed us how
And in reckless abandon, we found our own voice
Your voice was our savior
And yet it was nothing
I’ll light with a flame
From the top of the room
I shan’t make a sound
And might use the broom
But such is the care
That a sleuth makes when sleuthing
For a light at right time
Is the key to all youthing
So sleep as you do
And I’ll soon disappear
Without a trace or a name
The lighter of your flame
When you’re a kid and you’re hungry
Mom whips a meal up on the spot
She mixes and mashes
and the food comes out hot.
“Be careful now honey,
Don’t burn your tongue.”
So you blow on it a little
Then enjoy being young.
You run out to play
While mom slaves in the kitchen
And every meal that comes out
Is fine finger-lickin’!
But what you’ll learn when you’re older
Is that things only cook when they’re hot
Things like turkeys take longer
While toast may or may not.
And if you were to grab them
Before they cooled or they quit
Your fingers would sizzle
Without a good oven mitt.
It fits like a mitten
Only bigger and thick
And even though you’re protected
Still try and move quick.
Cause when a meal’s in the oven
It means someone’s hungry for food
And you don’t take your time
Because that would be rude.
So remember your mitt
and your hands will stay glad.
The food comes out fast
And your guests won’t get mad.
It’s a fine little invention,
made in Oven Mitt Land.
Like a guardian angel
That fits on your hand.
Look up to the sky
when the sun’s gone to bed
and thousands of lights
will dance ‘round your head.
Each star tells a story
As they circle and jig
And even though they look little
they’re really quite big.
That’s the thing with our own eyes
They only see what they know
And things often look different
viewed from above and below.
And that’s what the stars do
as they glisten and glow.
They circle each other
and point to things we don’t know.
If this guy sees this thing
And that girl sees that
One might see a round star
While the other sees flat.
But the lights high at night
carry a message with them
It’s that when their light dies
it also begins.
‘Cause stars can be funny
speaking riddles to you.
But things that are funny
are usually true.
So the next time you gaze
at the sky with big eyes.
It could be that star
is both gentle and wise.
And that’s why we like them
when they tickle our mind.
Because stars are like people
who are better when kind.
When you’ve got candles and cake—
wrapped boxes that gleam.
When there’s singing and laughing,
over coffee and cream.
You’re given a distraction
from the song that is sung.
Which says, you’re getting older,
but your heart is still young.
.’Cause for all the year’s build up
to a day labeled, “Yours”
We’re rarely given a moment
to stop and take score.
And that’s what’s delicious
about each birthday’s close,
Not the things you’ve been given,
but the memories you chose.
For how we remember
is never black, white, or fast
But in every moment
we’re creating our past.
Which is a fun thought to think
on a day meant for reflection
To see mistakes and regret
as divine cast perfection.
May there always be moments
however brief and between
That give you a second
to see what you’ve seen.
And on every new birthday,
or any day that you choose
Here’s to finding grand meaning
in a way you can use.