If I don’t write, then how will you know of the things that are going on deep down inside? You don’t know anything that I am feeling when I put it on paper or on a screen, and you don’t know when I explain it in carefully spoken words. How will you ever know what I mean or what I need?
When I carelessly love you and all that you do, you don’t seem to feel me here. No one seems to feel me here no matter where it could be that I am. If I tell you I am hurting, you will not believe me and if I tell you that I am happy you will think there is something missing. The idea is never transferred correctly when it comes to you and I. If things were transferred more adequately then our issues would probably subside.
If I tell you that I deal with judgemental people all of the time, you will think I lie. Listen my dear, the world is shallow and sometimes sadly so am I. I’m learning to listen and to see with open eyes what everyone else tries to keep bottled up deep down inside. I’ve learned that I’m trying to deal with all of my might. All of my might is simply not enough in this broken transaction of words. Words are not easily transferred like the coding of systems, they are more understood like the DNA we all sneakily hide. Words are not only our ephemeral emotions, but also our permanent cries. My words always get twisted in your sick little mind.
If what I say is wrong, I assure you it is not far from right because when I listen to your mind I find that you run and hide. However the sound waves exist and there’s no escaping them. I won’t bend your wrists to keep your love alive. There is no ball and chain, so if you must, just go run and cry.