My writing is not always done to ensure you are listening

That you are here, that you at least try to understand me

It is done seldomly for myself

But when it is done,

I sit in a bubble made of calm chaos

Blocking out the music that’s been turned up so loud

Closing my ears to the constant ticking of the clock

Seldomly I talk to myself

Not to be heard by you but to simplify my thoughts

The voices in my head, I write because I want to make

Some sense of them

When I don’t know how to feel 

Or what to do in a certain situation

Words typed up fast

Or words written sloppy with a paper and a pen

My words, they make it seem obvious