When You Want To Talk, But You’re Afraid No One Will Understand You


I want to talk, until my jaw hurts, and my throat dries up, spill all the secrets that are weighing down my heart and shoulders, weighing down my eyes, always looking at the floor, seeing and counting the cracks in it, walking on lines between the tiles, always looking at the walls when they’re talking, laughing,


I want to talk, and I’ve got many people I know right now, but they won’t understand the things I want to say, they will frown, they will interrupt me before I reach the end of the sentience, they will stop me, they will tell me I’m wrong, they don’t get it but tell me to ‘hang in there’, and look at me with confusion when I tell them I was hanging in there…that that was all I ever have done, that’s all I know how to do anymore, but hanging in there is not helping anymore,

I want to move, I want to change, I want to talk, but nobody speaks my language, the language of the lonely, of the lost, of the hopeless, of the ones that live in the abyss and love it there, the ones who like to be blinded by the sunlight, who inhale the night air like it’s filled with the scent of life,

I want to talk to someone, anyone, who would listen without trying to relate it to themselves, who wouldn’t compete with me for who is more sadder between the two, who wouldn’t tell me that there are worse things in the world than feeling sad about not being able to fit in with the world, to fit inside your body, about not having someone to understand you without explaining it in broken and awkward ways,

I want to talk, but the problem is, so do they, and they talk about things that have no meaning, no soul, my soul doesn’t respond to their cries, they seem like….their cries are meant for the whole world to hear, their cries fill the whole world, I wonder if God is deaf by now, does he plug in his earplugs like I do when the noise of the world around me gets too much for me?

I feel sad for him, and I want to tell this to someone,

but they look at me with ridicule, asking me who am I, a nobody, who was I to feel sad for someone who was too immense for me to comprehend?

I try to say, he must feel pain too, I know he must, or how would he know how we all feel? How would he able to help? How would he able to grant your prayers?

I want to talk, but it’s better if I write it down, nobody wants to hear my side of things, their opinions are so loud, so alike, thinking and running in same circles,

I’m from a different circle in hell, if you ever stumble across my street there, you’ll see me sitting alone, looking up into nothingness, talking to myself in my head, probably about nothing that important to begin with, it’s alright. I am fine the way I am.