Sabrina Imbler

Rather, I coveted certain manly flourishes. A wispy mustache. Flesh desperate to become muscle. A new mystery of a face. What I wanted most of all was a deeper voice. one that could drop into the abyss and skim the sea floor. As testosterone tilts your larynx and thickens your vocal cords, your voice sinks, stretches, and breaks. Mine skipped like a broken record.

Rather, I coveted certain manly flourishes. A wispy mustache. Flesh desperate to become muscle. A new mystery of a face. What I wanted most of all was a deeper voice. one that could drop into the abyss and skim the sea floor. As testosterone tilts your larynx and thickens your vocal cords, your voice sinks, stretches, and breaks. Mine skipped like a broken record.

It fell off cliffs in conversation only to reappear moments later. It became a shadow I could not pin down. Although I knew others found this pubescence embarrassing, I felt thrilled by the discomfort. I could hardly blame my body, transiting between one voice and another like a blinking satellite, destination unknown.

It fell off cliffs in conversation only to reappear moments later. It became a shadow I could not pin down. Although I knew others found this pubescence embarrassing, I felt thrilled by the discomfort. I could hardly blame my body, transiting between one voice and another like a blinking satellite, destination unknown.

It fell off cliffs in conversation only to reappear moments later. It became a shadow I could not pin down. Although I knew others found this pubescence embarrassing, I felt thrilled by the discomfort. I could hardly blame my body, transiting between one voice and another like a blinking satellite, destination unknown.

Of course, there would be blips along the way, but eventually, I realized I had lost my urge to karaoke. If speaking had become a gamble, singing was an impossible hazard. I could no longer handle my old songs. Notes that my voice once wrapped around now dangled out of reach. When I did hit the right notes, a frog stuck in my throat. I riveted. I croaked.

Of course, there would be blips along the way, but eventually, I realized I had lost my urge to karaoke. If speaking had become a gamble, singing was an impossible hazard. I could no longer handle my old songs. Notes that my voice once wrapped around now dangled out of reach. When I did hit the right notes, a frog stuck in my throat. I riveted. I croaked.

Of course, there would be blips along the way, but eventually, I realized I had lost my urge to karaoke. If speaking had become a gamble, singing was an impossible hazard. I could no longer handle my old songs. Notes that my voice once wrapped around now dangled out of reach. When I did hit the right notes, a frog stuck in my throat. I riveted. I croaked.

I tried switching octaves and often swung too deep. Still, I laughed it off. In the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. It wasn't like I traded some perfect voice for an imperfect one. I mostly felt impatient, excited for the point when my new voice would feel worn in and familiar. I hardly thought about the notes I had lost, instead fixating on the new, deeper ones yet to emerge.

I tried switching octaves and often swung too deep. Still, I laughed it off. In the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. It wasn't like I traded some perfect voice for an imperfect one. I mostly felt impatient, excited for the point when my new voice would feel worn in and familiar. I hardly thought about the notes I had lost, instead fixating on the new, deeper ones yet to emerge.

I tried switching octaves and often swung too deep. Still, I laughed it off. In the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. It wasn't like I traded some perfect voice for an imperfect one. I mostly felt impatient, excited for the point when my new voice would feel worn in and familiar. I hardly thought about the notes I had lost, instead fixating on the new, deeper ones yet to emerge.

Just how low could I go? No, I never miss my old voice. But I miss the way I used to feel singing Lips of an Angel. Punching each note with confidence, a beer swinging from my hand. I'd stopped singing it a few years into testosterone. It's true that the song had become more difficult. It's true that one night at a karaoke work party, I told my coworkers that I had left it behind.

Just how low could I go? No, I never miss my old voice. But I miss the way I used to feel singing Lips of an Angel. Punching each note with confidence, a beer swinging from my hand. I'd stopped singing it a few years into testosterone. It's true that the song had become more difficult. It's true that one night at a karaoke work party, I told my coworkers that I had left it behind.

Just how low could I go? No, I never miss my old voice. But I miss the way I used to feel singing Lips of an Angel. Punching each note with confidence, a beer swinging from my hand. I'd stopped singing it a few years into testosterone. It's true that the song had become more difficult. It's true that one night at a karaoke work party, I told my coworkers that I had left it behind.

But I didn't admit to myself until now, as I write this, that I hadn't quit Lips of an Angel as much as I had quit karaoke. In my most honest understanding, karaoke became hardest not when I could no longer sing, but when I could no longer drink. I had a problem like many others have a problem.

But I didn't admit to myself until now, as I write this, that I hadn't quit Lips of an Angel as much as I had quit karaoke. In my most honest understanding, karaoke became hardest not when I could no longer sing, but when I could no longer drink. I had a problem like many others have a problem.

But I didn't admit to myself until now, as I write this, that I hadn't quit Lips of an Angel as much as I had quit karaoke. In my most honest understanding, karaoke became hardest not when I could no longer sing, but when I could no longer drink. I had a problem like many others have a problem.

Not as bad as it could have been, but bad enough that it had run slipshod through my relationships, my health, and my ability to see myself surviving into old age. I had known this for years, but the only person I felt accountable to was myself. I shrugged off friends and lovers who had pulled me aside to share their fears.

Not as bad as it could have been, but bad enough that it had run slipshod through my relationships, my health, and my ability to see myself surviving into old age. I had known this for years, but the only person I felt accountable to was myself. I shrugged off friends and lovers who had pulled me aside to share their fears.

Not as bad as it could have been, but bad enough that it had run slipshod through my relationships, my health, and my ability to see myself surviving into old age. I had known this for years, but the only person I felt accountable to was myself. I shrugged off friends and lovers who had pulled me aside to share their fears.