Nobody Believes Me

Inanimate

I'm a very quiet girl,
Or it seems so on the outside,
But I'm always talking.

I talk to many things:
Myself most often,
My dogs,
My notebook,
My pencil,
My posters.

My head is like a warzone,
With all that goes on in it.
I'm always battling something,
Quite often myself.
And every thought flies around,
Every doubt makes a sound,
Every opportunity throws around the debris,
Every memory blows holes through me.

I like to think they listen,
To what spills out of the battle,
And that if they could talk,
They would understand it all.

I like to think I'm not alone,
That these things have souls,
And I'm not so crazy,
To tell them all my secrets.

Maybe when I cry,
It makes them ache to help me.
Maybe they know me,
And they could save me,
But they're inanimate.

Maybe I need someone else,
Maybe I should search for help,
But it's just so easy to talk,
When you know they can't judge,
And you know they can't tell you
What you don't wish to hear.

Maybe I'm just crazy,
But I want to be one too.
Something that doesn't have to live,
Only sit and watch.
I want to be inanimate.

But maybe I already am.

Sorry this one is pretty bad. I guess I couldn't get what was in my head out very well. I hope you didn't hate it too much.

-Z