Nobody cares about what I think. How I feel. It’s always me asking them questions about their day, that cute dress they saw online, the girl from last month you were telling me about- remember her?-Tell me more. Tell me more. Tell me more. Inquiring them, throwing out details they’re surprised I still remenber, pathetically in hopes of getting some queries thrown back at me and being labelled cute things for all of it. Inquisitive. Curious. Caring that one, she is.
But never something I want to hear.
Never something probing. So when I get home again after swallowing a bucket full of gossip you shoveled inside me, greedily, I again bottle up a day’s worth of screaming- “Ask me something! Bloody hell, ask me anything and I’ll give you the best answers anyone will ever give you.” But even that’s a lie now. See it has been so long since I dug up some realities and truths from my skin that I’ve forgotten how to go about it. My methods have become rusty. Crude, makeshift resolutions rise from this skin instead of making their way out of my mouth, like any sane person resolution ought to. And the first thing those resolutions do is complain of my jagged nails that dug them up and then ask about your day out (I’ve trained myself well.)
My tongue feels itself stuttering just at the thought of speaking for my heartbeats and broken promises as you stand there looking at me attentively. My palms prickle and sweat oozes out as if to say…shhh, I’m here for you, we’ll get by this together. This dilemma of how to get my tongue to do it’s job to convert my thoughts into syllables takes over my mind and confused, it just stutters, mortified but unable to do anything else. Because, you see it has been so long since I’ve dug up some of my truths to chuck them out into this world….I’ve forgotten how to talk for myself.