Voice with Something to Say
Yea this is something that was going through my mind during my senior year in high school and it sums up all that I was feeling at the time. I'm so deep in this poem.
So lost and alone that it sickens me,
I miss being happy and loved.
I miss being understood and not condemned,
Not being walked on as if I am nothing.
When did it go wrong?
When did my strength flee me to be replaced
By then all consuming fear of rejection and regret?
I have been stomped on,
Kicked, spat on and condemned
By the very people who are supposed to care.
Every day is a battle to live,
To get out my bed and know
That I have a reason for my life.
That I'm not worthless and useless,
That there are people who care and love me.
That I am essential to someone's happiness
Instead of the beginning of their demise.
The words of love that flow from my lips,
May never have been real to begin with.
They must have come from that dim bright place
That used to be my heart.
Now that place is dark and cold,
It is filled with yelling voice--
One voice--telling me that I am not worth anything.
I wonder if my kind words are the remnants of that
Dim bright place, that is fighting for survival.
I am fighting to smile and laugh everyday,
And know that it is not possible to do so.
Knowing that it was meant to be me alone
Against the rest--because I'm all that is left.
I am the little voice residing in a big person,
A person who seeks happiness whenever she can.
She is so lonely, so cold and empty,
But she wants to find that person who gives her anything
Because he/she wants her to be happy.
She wants that love that is unconditional
Just because that person loves her for herself,
Not what they think she is going to give them.
Why must she put up with the childishness of people
Who only wanted one thing?
She wants to be listened to, and not talked over.
Is it so hard to give her that acknowledgment?
I am the voice that listens to her cry,
That hears her screams of sadness and pain
When nobody will give her the time of day.
I don't sweep aside her concerns as nothing,
But I tell her she has the right to those fears,
Has the right to get mad when she was hurt.
Is it any wonder that she has no trust?
That she sees them as betrayers
Because they don't want to hear her words?
They won't understand because they don't care.
But she is always there with the shoulder to cry on,
Who listens when they are afraid or mad,
Yet she is in the wrong for wanting the same.
I am the voice with something to say
About their uselessness.
I miss being happy and loved.
I miss being understood and not condemned,
Not being walked on as if I am nothing.
When did it go wrong?
When did my strength flee me to be replaced
By then all consuming fear of rejection and regret?
I have been stomped on,
Kicked, spat on and condemned
By the very people who are supposed to care.
Every day is a battle to live,
To get out my bed and know
That I have a reason for my life.
That I'm not worthless and useless,
That there are people who care and love me.
That I am essential to someone's happiness
Instead of the beginning of their demise.
The words of love that flow from my lips,
May never have been real to begin with.
They must have come from that dim bright place
That used to be my heart.
Now that place is dark and cold,
It is filled with yelling voice--
One voice--telling me that I am not worth anything.
I wonder if my kind words are the remnants of that
Dim bright place, that is fighting for survival.
I am fighting to smile and laugh everyday,
And know that it is not possible to do so.
Knowing that it was meant to be me alone
Against the rest--because I'm all that is left.
I am the little voice residing in a big person,
A person who seeks happiness whenever she can.
She is so lonely, so cold and empty,
But she wants to find that person who gives her anything
Because he/she wants her to be happy.
She wants that love that is unconditional
Just because that person loves her for herself,
Not what they think she is going to give them.
Why must she put up with the childishness of people
Who only wanted one thing?
She wants to be listened to, and not talked over.
Is it so hard to give her that acknowledgment?
I am the voice that listens to her cry,
That hears her screams of sadness and pain
When nobody will give her the time of day.
I don't sweep aside her concerns as nothing,
But I tell her she has the right to those fears,
Has the right to get mad when she was hurt.
Is it any wonder that she has no trust?
That she sees them as betrayers
Because they don't want to hear her words?
They won't understand because they don't care.
But she is always there with the shoulder to cry on,
Who listens when they are afraid or mad,
Yet she is in the wrong for wanting the same.
I am the voice with something to say
About their uselessness.
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