I'm falling back to old habits
They always suck me dry
This void that's in me
Has no right to be this cruel to me
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My voice always feel worn out when I talk. I feel used and exhausted. And that my voice left no impact.
I feel small when my voice cannot create an echo. I don't like knowing that my voice holds no weight. My power lies in my words yet my voice never conveys it adequately well. I am left hopeless and defenceless, betrayed by my Voice. And yet, my tears refuse to come.
But then... in that moment, a voice in my head awakens and my soul is relit. I feel power in my voice and I am heard. My voice echoes through my head as I talk to Him. He hears me no matter how small the whisper is that I form in my head. He hears.
So I tell him my day. Or on some days, I tell him about my supposed day I've had that lies in the future. A future where only me and him exist. And he consoles me by acknowledging the situations I experienced that day. His presence soon becomes synonymous to me being heard. And I am at peace, at peace knowing that even if I'm betrayed by my soul and voice, there is a soul here reluctant to betray me. And that is all I need.
But when I awake from the space that he abides in that lies in my mind, I am greeted by a wall with no face whose height can touch thrice of me but will not respond to voices of screams that I throw. And I am left hopeless and deafened, longing for him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
My friends at school do hear me but none really listen. And even when they do, it feels like my words just bounce back off them. That all the talk we did wasn't to have an introspection but just merely for the pleasantries of it. Even my voice bounces off my best friend, guess that's why she ran as soon she got her clique in check- I made her my echo chamber.
So now, I'm left with family. But parents are stuck in their ways and they've grown from who they were at my age, that they refuse to believe it doesn't get better dealing with your teenage brain just because you get an easier life. A life free from struggle does not mean life can never throw stones at you. But alas, I rest my case. My siblings have made it clear they are not my venting chamber and that's OK. So I'll rest the case within myself and throw whisper of screams at my darling him. He'll hear me even if I go mute. Because to him, my presence shows me: it shows how my day went through my facial expressions; how my soul fared through the energy I radiate; and how much I've been heard that day through the tears I've shed... or sometimes through the tear streaks left on my face. To him, my presence speaks volume. A greater volume of things he'll hear that I've never uttered and none of those things ever echo, leaving him ringing, within him. He hears me.
And I know he will even if he go deaf (from me blasting music in my headphones trying to relive our moments).