There are days,
Where I go without speaking,
To another soul,
Save for the occasional text,
Or drink order at Starbucks.
On these days,
Silence is my constant companion,
Not even music playing in plastic headphones.
I do not mind,
These quiet moments,
For they give me,
Much needed time to think,
And write,
And exist.
Sometimes however,
The thoughts turn black,
As past mistakes,
Come back with a vengeance,
And I’m left drowning,
Under the weight of the darkness.
It’s on these days,
Where I reach out the most,
Desperate for a hand to hold,
Panicking when I come up short,
And am left with the loneliness.
Tears stain pillows,
That muffle screams,
As I wonder
If anyone out there,
Actually cares.
When I am lucky,
A knock on the door,
Or a phone call from a parent,
Will come at just the right time,
To save me from myself.
Most days though,
I alienate those I care about,
With over-dramatic texts,
Spoiling for a fight,
When all I really need,
Is someone to tell me,
That I’m worth it.
I hate myself,
On these days,
For being so needy,
Having spent years,
Building an indestructible persona,
And pushing people away,
So that when they’re not there,
I can be proven right,
About the fickleness of man,
And justify my natural avoidance of people.
I am called a bitch,
Cold, callous, and uncaring,
Antisocial and distant,
When all I really desire,
Is a hug
And simple reassurance.
But I don’t know
How to let myself ask,
Because that would be admitting weakness,
A vulnerability I cannot afford,
Simultaneously wanting a hand to hold,
But not wanting to give someone,
The power to break me.
So there are days where I’m quiet,
Buried under my fears,
Unable to speak,
Telling myself
That no one really cares,
Because if they did,
Surely they would notice,
The screaming silence,
And ask what’s wrong.;
Rachelle Manning 