When I open, emotion spills
so much coming through my quill
yet nobody seems to understand
unless the lives it first hand

When I open, truth comes out
I yell, I scream, and I shout
still nobody understands
because I’m the one who lived it first hand

When I open, I feel vulnerable
spilling out to others all that’s raw
but I’m still not understood
putting on these pages, my childhood

When I open, I wish to be heard
I promise that these words aren’t slurred
and yet I’m not understood
would you hear me if you could?