This is a spoken word poem.


Let Me Talk

I’m just trying to tell you how I feel, so let me talk to you

No, no, just let me talk

Because every time I try to tell you how I’m feeling, there’s a smirk, or a subtle squint of the eyes, or head tilt to the side, sometimes even a laugh, and I shut down

Then you’re mad at me for not communicating

Suddenly it’s my fault that we are failing

Now everything that we can look at can be blamed on me

If only I’d done this, or done that, or been here then, or been there now – too late

I fucked up again, right?

Because that’s what this is, right?

I’m just your scapegoat, right?

The one you can pin all your failures and insecurities on before shoving off the side of the cliff?

The one you can hide behind whenever the sun gets too hot, the winds too strong, or the current too brisk?

The one you tell “no” to when you see me stop acting nonchalant and start acting more like a child than a grown man because I am finally feeling joy for the first time in however long?

But I’m still here

Don’t worry, I’m not leaving

I’m still here, *insert name*

One after another after another

I keep thinking that when they say that they’re there they might be there, but they’re not actually there

And I give them more chances than they deserve because dating’s tough, and they do have good qualities

But time after time they do it, and while I’m so fucking patient I also can’t keep letting them do it over and over but I do until I finally scream at them to stop invalidating my fucking feelings

But it’s not about me, it’s about them, right?

They’re the ones that deserve the attention the applause the dignity the respect the gifts the money the showering with affection the celebration of achievements the entire world to look up at them while raising their white gloved hands with offerings of silver and gold.

But yeah, again, not me

Just fuck me, right? I guess that's it, right?

I’m supposed to be there for you not only when you need me to be but when you want me to be, but then you still get mad when I’m not there when you don’t even want me to be there, you just want the satisfaction in knowing you whipped a man into submission with the promise of a pure partnership that would be built on love, not fear

Because yeah, I’m afraid to be alone

I’m afraid no one will want me

I’m just afraid of being alone

And maybe if you let me tell you how I feel without that stupid fucking look on your face like you’re better than me, that look like I belong in the trash in the corner of your bedroom after you’ve finished using me, like I’m a disgusting, spoiled tool for you to dispose, well then maybe you’d fucking change

But you’ll never change

I’ve finally learned this

Sometimes people change in some ways

But I’ve never seen a person truly grow empathy

I’ve rarely seen a person become a better listener

I’ve sometimes seen a person get better at pretending

I’ve always seen each person get sick of me

...

Maybe I’m the problem.



Poetry by Paul Vermette
Read 58 times
Written on 2025-05-25 at 04:53

Tags Relationship  Communication  Feelings 

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