The pain of not being heard, truly heard, is the same as not being loved at all.
Why do I still listen, then? Is it really a desperate attempt to be heard in return?
Is it really that unbearably selfish to just feel a connection to a human, even if but for a second? Am I that unworthy of your ear and mind, only just the one if I’m lucky?
God damnit, I don’t want your heart or mind or soul, just your ear. What good is the rest with no member to hear with? How can the heart feel if it doesn’t hear?
All this talk of vibes from those with low vibrations. And do they admit their vibrations? No. They quake at the sight of you, offering a double-edged fear which slices the same hand you comforted them with.
Why listen to an apology from ears and mouths whom never acknowledged the wound they caused?
They have left trauma that even when resolved, I can never truly heal. Not in the face of friends, families and strangers who say “I’m sorry I made you feel that way” and never acknowledge their ways. Maybe until the end of their logue, but by then, who truly feels heard or acknowledged in the face of quick jabs and delayed attention?
Are they not like the ones who abused them? This cycle of callous we spin ourselves in, and now justify the spinning. Even when you have left the ones you profess to love, “spinning and spent”.
To know what it is to be human, while healing from the robot I’ve become. And there is no song sang for thee, no drum that is beat. Nor any acknowledgement of the slow killing of one’s spirit that occurred.