Sep 09

I Found My Voice (Again)

I loved my voice.
I know it wasn't the best,
or the most melodic,
but it was mine.
Much like me,
it remained raw
and rough around the edges,
jagged and in some ways crooked,
but I always knew the pitches,
and stayed centered.

I loved singing,
loved it with my whole body,
felt the music settle in my cracks
and patch me up,
and slowly,
the musical scores built up
and left small messy bits
across me.
I internalized it,
learned it by the fistful
and always craved more.

You told me it wasn't enough.
Classically speaking,
I couldn't disagree,
but you said it wasn't worth it.
You grabbed the melody lines
and the fragile harmonies
with hungry hands
and ripped them from me,
clenched them tightly
and threw them away.

I stopped
because of you.

I stopped for a year.
Told myself singing wasn't fun,
that I despised it,
that I was bad at it,
that I wasn't enough
no matter how hard I tried.
I believed it
because you said it,
taught it to me,
made me repeat it
as if it was a mantra,
and that slowly grew over the cracks
like cobwebs
and gathered like dust bunnies.

I grew cold.
I said I would quit.
I couldn't.

My voice is mine.
My voice is me.
Even if it's out of tune belting with friends,
screaming along to the radio
with tears in my eyes
and friends at my side.
It's shaky in the shower
and low and gravelly in the morning.
It's not the best,
but I love it,
and that's enough.

I sing for me.
I live for me.
I don't care about my three years with you,
because I am enough.
I will always be enough.