Meathead Monologue

the silence is not my friend

how long
should i intertwine my fingers
and create a cage
for my voice?
how long
do you not want me
to speak my opinion
on things that matter
significantly
to the both of us?
how long
do you want me
to stay quiet,
when all my life
all i have known
is the deafening silence?
how long
should i suffer
because you can't
take the facts
straight from the mouth
of someone
smarter than you?
how long
will you be
oblivious to the
real world,
the harshest world,
where everything is loud
and people shout at you
and share their thoughts
regardless
of your feelings and desires?

i know my voice intimately
and how it sounds,
forming from the airy depths
of my lungs.
i know the sound
of my own voice
and the way it effects
other people.
i know the way
i think and the way
i behave,
and i have since the day
i began remembering.
simply because i am me.
and i know everything
there is to know
about the brain and heart
at war inside me.
and if you think
you have figured me out
i will tell you now
that you have not.
the quiet is not me.
the silence is not my friend.
more often than not
i am jumping to be heard,
screaming to be listened to.
more often than not
the quiet scares me.
and if you think you can understand,
if you think you can get me,
then be considerate.

don't ask me not to talk.
don't ask me to be quiet.
don't ask me to keep my opinions to myself;
from everything i have lived through
in my short and structured life,
this is the worst suffering i know.

r.k.