I lay in bed every night, crafting words that will never be published. Wishing I was always understood by everyone, without having to say a word.
I scratch and scrub my head every morning-ish, deciding what stories to share, as if anyone really cares what I’m thinking. Tales that will mostly never get told out loud, but are always eloquently scripted in my mind, completely.
So many words and thoughts that will never get spoken in completion. Feelings that linger in my soul, that need to be dealt with entirely but will never see the light of day.
Words to songs I hate, songs that creep up into the thick of night. Lyric I sing to my beautiful baby once the sun finally appears.
I spend my days, and nights, feeling isolated and completely alone. Overwhelmed, searching for time away, and silence.
A moment, to read a page. Any page.
I crave community. Time with people that tolerate my crazy. If that even exists anymore.
To be touched, but not too much. To be understood, but never completely.
I want to quit it all. You know, this. And that. Totally everything.
Yes, that too.
To be noticed, but oddly, never to go unseen.
I know, I’ve been given so much. And maybe I expect too much in return. I understand that.
I’m doing my best. Promise. Even when it appears I’m not doing anything.
I’m tired. I’m sleepless. I need my mommy.
Pardon my ramble. It’s all I can muster.