loud

a poem about wishing people had more to say

The rattling in my head
waddles me closer to the edge,
am I really the only one who hears that?

“What's on your mind?”
They give the same answer every time:
Nothing of consequence.

I think I may be dying
between the pillow and the rot.
I felt more alive with the bears and the cot.

I reach for something bolder,
find only elbows and cold shoulders.
I can't believe I thought this was trying.

The voices in my head are mumbling again.
They hold knives where the neck bends,
threaten to bleed me, and say it's pretend.

“What's on your mind?”
I swear to be human this time.
Ohh, just that the horrors never end.

---

Ever wish people had more to say?

Rather than spinning the same cliches in every dandelion conversation? Blow them away with the same breath they wasted by spelling out nothing. Some days, I find it charming. The echo silence that follows my begging call: it’s a sign that there is quiet, somewhere. Today, I am drowning in the weight of nothing clever, always shallow. Today, I am pitching poems against intrusive thoughts.

If I walk into the ocean, what would the whales say?