little spindle
You say my feelings aren’t real,
that I’m just chasing a thrill,
that I’m too loud, too much, too ill,
like silence is the proper skill.
Every time I try to speak,
my voice is labeled “weak,”
you twist my words, call me bleak,
like honesty is what you seek, but never when it’s me.
You say I want to be alone,
like I built this cage of stone,
like I prefer this hollow tone,
like I enjoy this undertone.
But I’m not hiding, I am drowned.
I’m not quiet, I’m gagged, I’m bound.
I’m not distant I’m screaming loud,
but somehow lost inside the crowd.
I am not asking for a throne,
I’m asking not to feel unknown.
I’m not made of steel or bone,
I break, I bleed, I’m overthrown.
You argue like it’s sport and game,
assigning me the role of blame.
In every story, same old frame,
I’m the villain wearing shame.
But tell me this, if I’m so cold,
why does my chest feel split and rolled?
Why do my tears fall uncontrolled
if I’m the monster you’ve been told?
I don’t want distance, I want hands.
I don’t want silence, I want plans.
I don’t want walls, I want to stand
with someone who will understand.
I am not asking life for ease,
just someone hearing when I plead.
I’m on my knees, I beg, I bleed,
is empathy too much a need?
I am not evil, not insane,
I’m just exhausted from the pain.
From being told again, again,
that I’m the storm but not the rain.
This is not drama, this is breath.
This is surviving little deaths.
This is my voice, scraped raw to death,
still shouting through what’s left:
I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE.
I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT THIS ON MY OWN.
I DON’T WANT TO BE MISKNOWN.
I JUST WANT TO BE SHOWN
that I matter.
that I’m heard.
that I’m more than twisted words.
If I’m the villain in your tale,
then why’s my heart the one that’s frail?
Why do I scream and always fail
to make you see I’m not the scale
you weigh your blame upon?
I am not your easy wrong.
I’ve been holding this too long.
This is not a bitter song,
this is me trying to belong
unique sequoia