I've been so quiet,
afraid to creak the floorboards in this condemned house
that we call world.
I'd say you stole my voice, but I know I can't blame it on you.
I miss believing in myself but I'm thinking now
all that ever did was get me all the wrong friends,
led me to all the wrong places on Saturday nights.
After all,
those poor souls only ever fell in love with me when I was broken.
I think everyone wants to fix someone.
I don't blame them.
I've tried, too.
I was quiet for too long.
So I started yelling. Screaming.
Begging for attention from anyone with comfort in their eyes.
I cried out in the middle of all the terrifying nights
when "alone" would haunt me to my almost-grave.
I called out for love and company,
and wondered why nothing was special about me.
I guess I shouted too much,
because I lost my voice in all the rush.
I don't know how to get it back.
You say it's easy,
but it must be something I severely lack.