Why I Chose Spoken Word

By Matthew Wilson

For a long time, I assumed that "real" musicians sang. I
also expected that, with enough time, I would naturally
become a more technically proficient songwriter. I would
have liked to write songs like some of my favorite artists
do, but I knew early on that I wasn't going to be a carbon
copy of someone else.

For years, I wrote conventional songs. I tried to improve
my singing, wanting my songs to feel more "complete." But
because they never completely felt like me, I gradually
stopped trying to force them. One of my hardest lessons
wasn't learning my craft. It was realizing the craft I admired
wasn't quite the one I was meant to practice.

That's when things began to change. I enjoy ideas as
much as melodies, love atmosphere, and appreciate
space. Some of my reflections felt stronger than lyrics, as I
discovered that my speaking voice communicated
differently than pure instrumentals or the experiments I did
with my singing voice.

I didn't arrive at spoken word all at once. It happened one
song at a time. I'd finish a piece and notice that I wasn't
disappointed it didn't sound like everyone else's music. I
was excited because it sounded more like mine. That
feeling kept returning, and eventually I stopped treating it
like an exception.

I realized it was okay to make music that didn't sound like
everyone else's. I absolutely love taking an idea,
developing spoken-word lyrics around it, and producing a
backing track. Over time, I realized I was just as interested
in communicating ideas as I was in writing melodies.

I enjoy ambient textures, slower pacing, letting words
breathe, and allowing listeners time to reflect. By creating
atmosphere instead of urgency, I've not abandoned
songwriting so much as I've expanded what songwriting
can be.

Speaking feels more natural than forcing melodies. Ideas
and lyrics often arrive before I begin producing them, and
slower music gives me room to think. Creating one layer at
a time feels natural to me. Rather than fighting the way my
creativity works, I started building music around it.

I value emotional honesty over performance. I don't need
to impress people or do vocal gymnastics. Honesty
creates its own beauty, and listeners connect with
sincerity. So, I stopped asking whether my voice sounded
impressive and started asking whether it sounded true.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I was drawn to
slower music, thoughtful arrangements, and ideas that
unfolded over time.

I didn't choose spoken word because I gave up on singing.
I chose it because it became the most honest way I knew
to communicate.

I still enjoy well-written songs built around melody. I simply
discovered that my own ideas often wanted to arrive a
different way.

What does it take to enjoy creating again? For me, it
meant letting go of the artist I thought I was supposed to
be and making music because it genuinely meant
something to me. Finding my voice changed my
relationship with creativity itself. And that voice is still
evolving.

Spoken word became conversation, philosophy,
storytelling, reflection, companionship, and honesty, rather
than performance, technical achievement, and fitting
expectations.

Instead of becoming the strongest singer, the most
technically polished songwriter, or someone who fit neatly
into one genre, I became reflective, thoughtful,
philosophical, emotionally honest, and unmistakably
myself.

I still experiment. I still question things. Sometimes I still
wonder what a song needs. But today, when I sit down to
create, I spend far less time wondering what kind of artist
I'm supposed to be. I'm much more interested in becoming
the one I already am.

Creativity, Identity & Belonging

This essay is part of a seven-essay collection exploring creativity, identity, mental health, uncertainty, music, and community.