Only Human
Listen to Me Now
No, I’m not very perfect. Nor am I very kind or very thoughtful. I’m human, and all of us are selfish. We think of ourselves. We think of our pain. Maybe one day, another’s life will slip in our minds, and we will wonder if they need our help. But, we won’t care, not really. All we can think about it what we want.
I could lie to you. It would be very easy to. I could lie and say that I do care about you. I care about your health and your happiness, your misery. But, then I would be lying to myself, and that isn’t very healthy I don’t think.
Oh, how I could wish for your life, your looks, your brains. Your life is almost perfect, almost. Mine is far from it. But, you wouldn’t know, and you wouldn’t care. I didn’t mind that when the first person stabbed me in the back. But, I mind it now.
So, the next time you talk with me, listen to my words, too. I sat and listened to you ramble and rant about things that I don’t care about. I listened to you whine and complain about your perfect life when I’m sitting here in my own self-pity. You wonder why I’m mad at you. I try not to laugh. I’m not mad at you. You don’t know what mad looks like on my features. You never listened. You never cared. Look at me, now I’m ranting.
Perhaps, I am just over reacting. You talk about yourself, everyone does. It is a way of human communication. But, the one thing people forget about us listeners is that we have problems, too. We have lives, and stories, and facts, and dirty little secrets.
I’m not that different from you. Except, I don’t feel anymore. I can’t. Something inside of me was tired of the lying and deceit people put me through. When others talk about sadness, I don’t comprehend it. When they say how mad they were, I don’t feel it. When you tell me about how happy you are now, I don’t understand. I don’t remember how that feels.
I wish that I could tell you all of this, but I know I never will. I will sit here behind my computer screen, typing on the only thing that will listen to me. But, I would never have the courage to tell you. It isn’t because I don’t want to. Because believe me, I want to. I just won’t. I’m not perfect, and I will never be. Human is the only thing I’ve ever been, and we all are miserable.
I could lie to you. It would be very easy to. I could lie and say that I do care about you. I care about your health and your happiness, your misery. But, then I would be lying to myself, and that isn’t very healthy I don’t think.
Oh, how I could wish for your life, your looks, your brains. Your life is almost perfect, almost. Mine is far from it. But, you wouldn’t know, and you wouldn’t care. I didn’t mind that when the first person stabbed me in the back. But, I mind it now.
So, the next time you talk with me, listen to my words, too. I sat and listened to you ramble and rant about things that I don’t care about. I listened to you whine and complain about your perfect life when I’m sitting here in my own self-pity. You wonder why I’m mad at you. I try not to laugh. I’m not mad at you. You don’t know what mad looks like on my features. You never listened. You never cared. Look at me, now I’m ranting.
Perhaps, I am just over reacting. You talk about yourself, everyone does. It is a way of human communication. But, the one thing people forget about us listeners is that we have problems, too. We have lives, and stories, and facts, and dirty little secrets.
I’m not that different from you. Except, I don’t feel anymore. I can’t. Something inside of me was tired of the lying and deceit people put me through. When others talk about sadness, I don’t comprehend it. When they say how mad they were, I don’t feel it. When you tell me about how happy you are now, I don’t understand. I don’t remember how that feels.
I wish that I could tell you all of this, but I know I never will. I will sit here behind my computer screen, typing on the only thing that will listen to me. But, I would never have the courage to tell you. It isn’t because I don’t want to. Because believe me, I want to. I just won’t. I’m not perfect, and I will never be. Human is the only thing I’ve ever been, and we all are miserable.