Much as I bask in my solitude,
I need a human voice,
or words expressed in written form,
with implication someone cares.

I make attempt,
communication is cut short,
as other priorities
are rightly given weight.

It seems my calls for help
are not heeded,
camouflaged as they are
in the varied disguises
I adopt.

I do not wish my needs
to take centre stage,
if my performance wrings too much
from those who profess to care,
they will run out of words
and turn their backs.

I try to lean,
but empty space
awaits my tired frame,
or lack of understanding
leads to self support,
my familiar stance,
leading me to feel 

Copyright © 2020 Lily Lawson

Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

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