Talk about it.

my tongue is too big for my mouth
and has been pushing along, looking for a space
to rest. a space to lay. ready to ruin the consistency.

my head, repeating words, thoughts,
like all of my CDs playing at once, and perhaps
an infomercial in the background, and perhaps a
horror movie plastered on a screen in the back
of my mind. is that why my heart is racing?
no. this isn't a feeling of fun.

so you say talk about it.
as if i can talk about it. as if i can tell you
that my head contains an interstate of thoughts.
of words. of people. of lyrics. and nobody wants to listen
and nobody wants to help me get them out.
and i do not blame them, but when
you ask me to talk, all i think of
is my friends turning away, changing
the subject, because it's easier to think of
me being the joking, sarcastic person i am
rather than the self-detrimental monster
that lays underneath.

you say talk about it
and i am reminded of all those who do not listen.

pardon me for being scared to use my words,
because people do not listen, and even if they
do listen, they tend to misunderstand.