Why am I here?
They ask me what I mean, and I speak,
but my speech has no meaning,
and they give it no value.
Who am I to speak?
I know no one, am no one,
and can make no list of glories,
and they know this better than me.
I have all the people in the world around me,
but no one to listen to me and crave me,
and I cannot understand their language,
and they say I have none.
Why can't I cry?
They deny me even that comfort,
and I am desperate for bitterness and rage,
and they scorn that I could imagine aposiopesis.
Why can't I have solitude?
Information everywhere and too much to do and no time and no space,
and people suffering with no advocate,
and they would mock the day I betrayed them with silence.
I have all the words in the world waiting on the cusp of my lips,
but no one to listen to me and crave me,
and I do not speak their language,
and they will not let me simply be.
I am afraid of my awakening,
And they tell me I will not have one,
But I know how it will come—
They will not see as I slip from knowing to believing.
30 July 2012
3 comments:
Hi! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. I manually approve comments, so sometimes it takes a few weeks, months, or even years to find and approve comments. This delay is normal. (Note that I also don't publish every comment, since this is my personal blog.) Unfortunately, anonymous commenting isn't available anymore since it resulted in over one million spam comments in a short period.
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It's powerful, I love it. Especially the last two lines...
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely gorgeous, Lydia.
ReplyDelete