Sometimes I scream so loudly, no one can hear me. Like clockwork, repetition explodes from my vocal chords and I am exhausted. My voice appears through whispers of alto tones and laughter implodes as I lose bits of myself to those who refuse to hear me.
Just listen.
I speak with words from my gut that make complete, important sense. Such young, beautiful, important words with innocence embedded in each vowel. Sometimes my syntax fluctuates, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but somehow fits.
I give my heart. My all. My everything. I put out energy that's developed over mass amounts of time. I push so hard to show the world all I've got. Although, sometimes I think it's not enough. I'm not pushing enough. I'm not sacrificing enough. I'm not giving enough. I know it's not enough.
The hardest thing to come to terms with is knowing what you want, putting in all the effort required, and never getting what you want. It's almost intoxicating–this feeling. It's almost addictive, to say the least.
I have so many questions that need answers, but no one can hear me.
