Just My Silenced Voice

At some point in time we were all understood. At least I was understood.
Once upon a time my midnight cries clearly indicated that I was hungry and needed to be fed. My smile only meant that I was just happy and had no pain hidden behind it. This was the time when my gu-ah-eh made sense and they all knew it meant carry me, no pretence. 

Unfortunately, a child is no tripod pot. As a result growth came and she came in with her evil cousin, Misconception. Who unlike Donald Trump, didn’t just introduce the idea of building a wall between Mexico and the United State of America, but instead acted like the late Adolf Hitler and built the great wall between hearing and understanding, infect between articulation and interpretation.  

Now there are words written between the lines. Language ain’t so obvious anymore. Word of mouth ain’t so meaningful anymore. I find myself speaking yet no one would be listening, it’s like I am speaking in tongues. Everyone pays attention and claim to be hearing me, but from their response only one question is derived: How much did this person just spend? Because their retort is weaker than a supermarket’s home brand coffee- next of keen.   

Sometimes self-conversations are the only real conversations where one is not being misunderstood. Where I am actually saying something and not “trying to say” another. Where no one is worried about what I didn’t say but rather what I actually said. 


Though it may seems like I am slowly driving myself to the destination of depression, silence just feels much better. I guess the only person who understands my phrasing is my oh so dear aunt Diary. Even though she doesn’t utter a single word to tell me that it will get better in time, at least she gets my intentions. To her my HIM AND I is not questioned for US, my I CAN’T is not converted into I WON’T, my sorry is not fishy and my love is not suspicious.

I am tired of speaking now. My voice seem to not be audible anymore. I might as well befriend Paper and Pen, because when ink meets paper, a consensus is reached between my point and the response I am bound to get. Wounds heal much better and faster, no spirits is added. No dream is crushed when I finally shut the book, a voice is granted. Me and my message finally united.



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