By Elizabeth Harper

They’re so loud, they can’t even hear me;
don’t know, can’t imagine I exist.

I can’t be that loud. I can’t be loud enough for them to hear me
when they’re not even trying to hear me.

All they want to do is shout louder than all the rest.
Shout so theirs is the only voice that’s heard.

People like me, with sensitive ears, hide from the noise,
try to drown it out, muffle it.

We huddle in corners and pray, “Why won’t these posers please shut up?”

When I speak, I’m always listening: listening for the voices of others;
listening for my own.

Because I can have disagreements within my own mind.
Unanswered questions.

Never sure I’ve seen the problem(s) from all angles.
Wondering if there’s something I’ve missed.