I came home frustrated tonight.
Frustrated because I’ve got no hands.
No hands to hold as I struggle through this life.
No one to stand beside.
There are people in every moment
But they all seem empty.
They all wave and smile
Ask how I am
Without listening for replies.
They all disappear at their convenience
When I’m shaking and sobbing on the floor
Empty and broken and only asking someone be there.
So I came home punch-wall angry.
To an empty house
Dark and hopeless.
And I sat down alone
And stared at my hands.
My own hands.
Trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.
What is it that makes me so dependent on other people?
What is it that makes me feel so lonely when I am so surrounded?
Because someone told me recently I deserve to be happy
And I’m trying my best
But it feels like no one listens
And it feels like all I’ve got are empty sentiments that taste like dollar store fig bars
And I just haven’t figured out how it is to be alone
And how it is to not care
And how it is to care enough about myself
That I don’t have to have someone to lean upon.
And I’ve been sending signals out to empty hallways
To see if there is anybody there
But all I hear back is the sound of my own hulloos reverberating
And they sound like baby cries.
No I came home frustrated
Because the people that are paid to care
Just aren’t caring.
And the ones who are normally caring
Aren’t being paid.
And we’re all just wrapped up in the lives of our own miniscule selves
That we don’t see the way our neighbor is twisting out on his sidewalk.