'Black Shama'

Sometime ago

(though I don't remember when):

I sang a song

That no one knew.

So I closed my eyes and covered my ears,

Imagining my own worldscape in that tune.

When I'm alone,

I belt a song

And hate my voice,

And then I belt again.

An unending sound

Of joy and rage.

Close my ears up and pretend,

I'm singing melodies up in the clouds.

They told me I was set apart—

A holy vessel.

So I must be careful with what I speak.

A curse or a blessing:

Anything I say is true.

But they're false prophets

Recruiting me to their play—

A make-pretend hero story

Where the music is in autotune.

I know this because

When I tried to sing for you,

The words all came out wrong,

And I told you to go away

When I really meant to say,

"Stay with me,

Let's sing together this sad tune."

I open my mouth.

I close it again.

I know. I'm sorry.

I know.

One afternoon, we sat

On a bench under golden sun,

And you asked me what was wrong.

And I shut myself up,

I let you down.

When you walked away,

I couldn't call out your name.

I waited for you to turn around,

But why would you

When only a ghost is there

To greet you when you do?

Yet when the noise overcomes

The world—

Thunder and yelling and sobs—

You ring me up

And we sit together,

Unspeaking. Unmoving. Uncaring

of the static in between our lines.

And maybe those moments

Ring louder

Than the moments

I couldn't sing for you.

I open my mouth.

I close it again.

I know. I'm sorry.

I know.