I wish I could sing better, as rooms
would crowd up just for my voice to fill
in the last possible spots and space. But
it's not my choice, envying those who

seem vocally perfect. I'll sing for myself
in corners of the world and I'll enjoy it
but the feeling that no one will ever
like the sound as much as a star's, breaks

more of my insides than my voice does
other people's ears. I'm not made
to sing, enchant your hearing, make you ling-
er, make you stare, make you dazzled with
confusion.

His voice, or hers, it makes me feel
these tingling sensations allover
the skin of my back, all my hairs rise.
I want to do that to the necks of listeners.

I lost so much, even this, even though
I never had it.
Make me humble again, return it.

I'll be lonely on my school ball,
I'll cry and watch some streams, making
their way wherever they want to.
But I can enjoy the sadness, I'm
getting used to being useless.