Talent
Isn’t my talent.
Her singing, she is talented.
Me, stilted, weary.
I don’t have stuff like abilities.
Washed all that potential off.
But hers.
She could fill a soft pillow case with her voice.
Or even an air mattress.
My core.
Is rough as compacted trash cubes.
My inner voice is made of gargling.
I was talented that one time.
Fixed the toilet somehow.
But flushed my earring away.
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