And while I certainly don't think most people of at least a reasonable degree of competency would be inclined to disagree, it just seems to me that you were thinking about it all wrong.
Perhaps the real problem was not my tendency to speak loudly and with great frequency but rather it was the inferiority of your listening abilities, or lack thereof.
You see, I wouldn't need to constantly dwell and reiterate and repeat if you would have been able to conceive even momentarily that there was reasoning tucked between the seams of my stories that I kept waiting for you to find.
I wanted to give you chances repeatedly to display some needed empathy and to meet even my most basic needs or, **** it, just common decency but all requests were met selfishly and I think its time to leave it behind.
I am ready to breathe regularly and sleep without the haunting dreams and stick to it this time without relapsing. I am ready to finally start resisting picking up the phone when you inevitably decide you are feeling a little too lonely and know that you can always count on me to be too desperate and too weak to waste an opportunity to speak because you always said I talked too much.
I hope I am finally running out of things to say.
I am a glutton for punishment and also assonance. I know this is definitely not my best work but it was fun to write.
What's the point of being a poet if we can't find a way to create from the heartache?