Piercing Vague

I am hoarding millions  

of unspoken thoughts.

Waiting to be spoken

yearning to be heard. 

Each with an incessant need 

to be recited relentlessly.

As it goes, I assume 

you are there too.

You’re listening. 

But not responding

to my irrational thoughts.

Could you hear the voices?

Recalling all my past joyous 

but melancholia memories.

You hear the voices whispering 

almost lyrically

“Help me, please someone.”

Or do you hear them humming 

my familiar and soothing melody.

The same melody that attempts

to eliminate the penetrating yells

that catch my attention.

The anthem that helps seclude me 

from society.

My cathartic anthem.

Assuring me that everything is okay.

But is it?

I may isolate myself.

But I still wonder 

with brooding eyes

“Why can’t you hear me?”

You must be paused in perplexity. 

Right?

Unsure of your next move?

Or has your time been booked 

by another derelict soul?

Alas.

Regardless of its appeal,

I cannot avoid the inevitable.

You don’t possess the inability to 

listen.

I lack the ability to speak.

So I write and write and write

right away.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741