"Why is your music so loud?"
I'm hoping that if it's loud enough,
even if it blows out my eardrums,
or erases the world in a puff,
that the music will drown out my thoughts.
"I just like it loud."
"Why don't you come talk with us?"
I don't know what to say.
And by the time I figure out something presentable,
the topics gone another way.
And I end up just sitting there,
too nervous to speak on my own.
And when I have words to say,
it's just never fair.
I can't make myself say them.
My mouth is too scared to open,
for fear I'll spout something unacceptable to send.
And I feel so small,
in this group of people that give me the most comfort in a world of words that pummel.
"I'll join later, I have something I need to finish."
I sit in my room.
In a fog, of quiet overwhelming, the darkness that came too soon.
Why didn't I just talk to them?
I'm a fucking wimp, no wonder they barely bother with me anymore. They all prefer each other's mayhem.
No, not again. Can I not think bad things for just one day?
Too late. They're always here to stay.
Maybe music will help.
You know music never fills the silence quite like a conversation does.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
