Sometimes,
I get a little to excited.
I talk to fast, because I'm delighted.
And I stumble over words,
trip on my tongue
and everyone laughs.
I play it off,
like I know I'm annoying;
and I don't want to bother you,
so I stop talking.
But I've compartmentalized
exactly when you stopped listening.
I know the look on your face,
when you roll your eyes in a glaze
thinking, "This bitch is gonna go on for days."
So I know exactly when
I have to stop,
because you'll just ignore me.
And I see it now,
people wondering if I'm being
'over-dramatic',
like I'd push for a reaction
in the name of poetry.
Your eyes are glazed
and you're fighting a yawn
like manners now make up for the way
I've hurt over the years.
Like being told I talk to much
every day of my life
for 16 years doesn't do some damage.
I apologize to everyone when I meet them.
I have been told
"You're to loud."
"You're to obnoxious."
"You talk to much."
So many times,
that I apologize for my existence.
For finding joy in something.
You may think
I'm being melodramatic.
"Who could see it that way?"
"Who actually feels like that?"
Me.
And I don't have to validate myself,
because I am tired
of shouting
in hopes that you'll finally listen.
Because despite claims to the contrary,
I have something to say.