If I were an iPod, Or an mp3, And one were to dock And listen to me; They would be greeted not By a incoherent playlist, But an overlapping of songs and sounds, That attempt to articulate what I missed.
For when docked and amplified Static and pain permeate and pierce; As my inner most feelings Become something that is shared. It is hard to hold back When you feel the world has robbed you blind, Of all your emotion Of your empathy, of your kind.
Often I dream about anchoring up, Throwing in the towel in order to run. But the more I write I am determined to face my fear; Look him in the eye and let the pain be caused be something I wear.