Listen

Listen

I don't expect you
to understand.
It's not like anyone
does anymore,
telling me that I'm
too busy thinking
with my heart
to hear my head
screaming itself hoarse
trying to
show me
trying to
tell me
trying to
pull me out of
some abyss I've
dug for myself,
but they're wrong.
They don't hear
the drumming beat
that courses through
my chest,
a rhythm that
invades my very core,
reminding me
day after goddamned day
that I have a choice,
and I'll never give
that up.

There are some
that do see,
though,
those that drum
alongside me,
show me that
perhaps I'm not alone,
that there is a band,
a loving percussion
to march alongside,
however small it may be.
And as the world
stomps along
to its own destructive tune,
I hold on to
the tempo
that's brought me this far,
the silly sonnet
that I can't help
but dance to,
laugh with,
sing at,
love.

There will always
be those whispers
that hiss into my ears
like an airy tape worm,
trying to rip into me,
tear out the good bits,
leaving a pile of
rotting poor intentions.
And I'll rip
each one out
with a self-assurance,
with satisfaction,
with a broad smile
on my face,
the one reserved for those
who can never truly know
what they mean to me.
But,
if they were to ask,
I'd tell them that
it's my way of saying
thank you
for not leaving
me alone.