It’s the way with my species.
Their bad habit- to confine
And leave the most pertinent words,
Invisible in between the lines.
And fill all the silences
With crowded, convoluted thoughts,
Stuffed in unyielding boxes,
Expecting them to be caught.
For words, they are too definite,
Even bordering on crude.
And too many things,
Are just meant to be understood.
No matter the alienation
For lack of plain speech.
The power to reach out
Shall stay out of their reach.
It’s the way with my species,
Looking for impossible telepathy,
While needlessly questioning,
Can you hear me?
Pic credit: Mika Baumeister (unsplash.com)