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 


Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

Copyright © 2020 Lily Lawson

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