ThIs Is ThE RaMbLiNgS

i used to write things. write them well...some might have even called them--beautiful. i used to write things...things that made you feel me. made you understand me. and you would say to me, "hunny, now i know..why didn't you tell me that to begin with?" or, "hunny, talk to me." and so i learned to speak before i wrote...to try and avoid hurting you through my words...to be open with you and honest, knowing i can't always hide behind a screen of letters and periods. but now you don't hear me. you don't say "hunny, i understand now," and so i type it out...nothing. and i type it again, word it better...nothing...and again i type it until it bleeds back into my mouth and i'm screaming it and you are walking out the door.

what happened here. where has the release and the expression gone from this page? where once you read me and heard my heart...now you read and forget--or simply stay silent. don't you understand that i need you? dont you want to know how i am? this moring i lay screaming on the bathroom floor...feeling near death while my parents panicked and called doctors. and i call you...because i'm tired, and feel horrible, and i need your voice of comfort. but you misconstrue my weak voice and short patience for something it is not, and never even ask what's wrong. and your attention fades with your keyboard strokes, as i'm telling you whats wrong despite your not asking. and you snap back with "what?" and you say you'll call later, but you don't.

am i so easily forgotten?

more than yesterday|less than tomorrow

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