Head In My Voice

Chapter one of how to be a poet says all poets must find their voice.

I went to America, figuring
if I put my voice where it stands out
I’d have more chance of finding it.

I walked into diners with the prettiest waitresses,
sure to order a Full English Breakfast and ask

Does that come with tea?

They’d heard voices like mine in the movies.

I like your accent they’d say

To which I’d reply

Hi I’m Ray... as in Ray Winston

Ray Davis?

No?

Ah ok, Ray as in Ray Charles.

like my voice was a new lover I introduced to everyone.

Grinning they’d ask:

Can you say Bollocks that’s bloody brilliant!?

I’d say
Bollocks that’s bloody brilliant!

Then the waitresses would tell me their names and if they didn’t say something like

I’m Amy as in... Do you want to sleep with me?

My voice wouldn’t care.

Because it was becoming proud,
It used to keep to itself but now
It wants to get out more. It wants me to repeat
everything it says.

I’d had no dreams for years.

Suddenly I was in one every night
doing voiceovers in all of them.

The Americans would hear me speak and ask if my voice
could provide the directors commentary to their lives.

I even dreamt I met Barack Obama and he accepted
The Nobel Peace Prize in my voice.

But within four days I stopped pronouncing the T in water.

I was losing the language of my voice.

It was time to leave America.

back in the UK I pronounced the T in water but lost the T in “later”

I’m not sleeping with many women anymore.

British women get very jealous when I talk about myself.

They ask
if the sound of my voice replaced all my ex-lovers?

My voice started to make my face feel inadequate.
I started wishing I only existed as a radio personality.

I’ve stopped talking in my dreams.

I go home alone most the time
so I can write really long poems
just to prove I have a lot to say.