“If they don’t hear you, say it again.
If they don’t hear you, again, a third time.”
They didn’t hear me.
What language do you they speak?
It must linger in the nether zones;
Where stars hover adjacent to the sun,
Or heaven even, kitty corner within sight.
I feel hot breath from my mouth,
I hear a deep resonance from my chest,
My low voice is perhaps like the pluck of base,
And they only hear banjo picking voices?
It’s getting serious, I’m concerned.
“I said I’m bleeding heavily”
“drink more water” they told me.
That feels wrong?
I’m not a worrier, my mother is.
In contrast I never worry,
If they don’t hear you
You need to hear you,
You may need to be transfused
By days end.
You cannot make them hear you,
But you aren’t alone when you hear you,
I do trust this language that only I speak
I hear me,
I will listen.