Waiting to be heard

I love speaking

my squeaky voice

sailing through

its shrill pitch cracking a ear drum or two.

I love saying what I feel

dressing my thoughts in words beautiful

I say them loud

or write them down.

I love sharing what I have

giving generously

gaining modestly

or just making friends.

Yet the one who tearing the ramparts

of my soul ensconced himself in my heart

is stone deaf to my silence,my words,my sighs.

She looked up with eyes mirroring her heart

Turning my gaze,I sighed, I know.

 

PS: For often there are stories of strife, of pain,which we know of yet act ignorant.

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