I can’t say it,
Or scream it like I wish I could.
I can’t show it,
Or even infer it by my behavior without some kind of ridiculous back lash,
I can’t keep it held up inside of me forever without going mad,
So I write.

Oh how I wish I could say it, scream it, show it…
But I know you’d never be accepting of my ideas or views.
So there they lay,
In plain black and white.
And this is the reason I write.

All the things I’ve wanted to say to you,
All the things I’ve wanted to scream to your face until you could see it from my perspective – or until I turned blue from trying.
All the things I kept from you
I’d drop hints for you hoping you’d pick them up,
But you let them stay there on the ground as if they were trash that your clean, pure hands weren’t about to touch or bother with.

And there are the reasons these words appear on this page.
I can’t talk to you, reason with you, compromise with you… I can barely tolerate you!
So, I write.