Mine is just a little voice,
yearning to be heard
in a world full of clamoring noise
as others do the same.
At times I forget that small detail,
my mind is lightly delusional, believing
that the words I write and
the sounds from my throat and mouth
will be recognized.
Nothing quite so grand as fame
but the sort of recognition that
songs, and poems, and other works of art
seem to hold high as the ideal
that to truly have existed in this world
means that you were loved
that you had been found or had found
that one great love story
everyone seems to seek.
But when a voice like mine
whispers in the gale of others
and my form that I exist in is
undesirable,
no one will hear me, nor want to.
Thus I have learned that perhaps
it is best not to speak at all.

© Johanna Kaye Fugitt 2018