Your laughter could’ve filled a Cathedral.
You were so loud.
And the world loved you so much.
Eventually I fell silent.
Sometimes the thoughts would form
like a stream of words,
Dribbling past my lips without my consent,
Passing by your attention span in open daylight.
Sometimes they’d come out wrong and
I’d be left to question the melancholy that seemingly overtook my thoughts.
I’d find my recluse in a songbird and drift off the balcony,
far detached from you,
hand in hand with my daydreams.
It’s not fair,
I realize I let it happen.
You asked for my words to lift off the page,
For me to try and release myself from that prison.
But you never stopped to think that you could’ve read between my fine lines.
You could’ve figured me out.
You could’ve listened.
Instead you just kept talking.
– BIATA, ‘you can’t teach yourself to be an extrovert’