you weren't hearing it.

 none of us exist
unless we are screaming.
i never, ever scream
i stay quiet and write poems.
hopefully they scream for me, hopefully the veins in their necks look like the guard rails on railroad tracks and buzz like them too, press your fingers here to see just how close we are.
i am not a philosopher and i'm not a scholar,
i am not a student of linguistics, or medicine
i write poems and then i fall asleep right after like writing them was running a marathon and sometimes i dream about the end of the world and wake up sweaty, sometimes bruised, like a twister picked me up in my slumber and threw me around.  i have hazel eyes that have been described as loaded but also soft and i don't know how it is possible to be both and when i was little i walked with my feet turned in instead of out. i will not tell you what i'm good at but i might want you to notice, regardless. i will not fit in because my pieces are broken and their veins show. "keep it together" i beg them.  how can pieces keep it together?
the answer is they can't, and they tell me, shaking their heads.
always with the shaking of the heads.

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