Who truly needs to hear from me?
No one, not even my friends. Surely
they hear enough of my squawk
in the day to day.  No one,
not even my enemies.  There’s nothing
they could use against me; the talk
is empty. No one in my family,
no one at my job, no neighbors.
I spew a simple stew of garbage;
the scent even makes others stop
their ears as well as their noses. 
If I had a love, they’d want me
dead quiet, I’m sure. If I had a child,
Dad would be a dirty word; my voice
would be a dirty wind. No one 
wants to, ought to hear from me
until I learn to wash my sins
from my throat and that means
stripping them from my gut
and lungs, never mind my heart,
before I approach the world again
with a song or even a single word.