Underplayed, underneath.

Darling, I don't have much to say; on account of, you have seem to taken all my words from my mouth and buried them under your finger nails and your harsh words.
graciously, you've left me a few select words to use and to think.

Words I am aloud to use and speak:
I                      Enough          Here
You                  Label            Speak
Quiet               Close            Time
Quit                 Close            Love
Extremely         No               Come
Sad                 Darling          Come
Cello                Need           Come

I Need You Quit Extremely Sad Cello. I Enough. Darling, No.
Need Quit Come Time.
Love I?
Extremely Close Come Come Come.
Extremely Quiet.
Extremely Sad.

I blink twice for you. And you understand that.
I blink only once for my mother; and father.
especially for my father.
father.

I hang my head upside down and try to see the way you see the world. I hold my soup in my hands and eat my bread in my bowl.

and some how, even after I've turn my head, you still don't see me straight.
You still don't see me.

Darling, I need you to understand that I will continue to do the things I find comfort and contentment in whether or not I have your approval.

Do you not understand that?
Do you not understand that I need to figure out how to use all of the words in the English language before you can take them away from me?

I need to learn to stand for what I want and need to stand for. I need to learn who the hell I actually am and what the hell I actually stand for. I need to learn to find out why I stand for the things I do. and why I have the worst need to stand as far away from you as I can.
and how I like it better when you're not present; then when you are.
and how I like it better when I'm not present; then when I am.

Darling, I need to understand why my fingers never seem to type fast enough and I never seem to write how I actually feel.
and Then when I do, you come to me, crying, asking me why I write such evil things.
and I tell you because that's how I feel.
and you leave crying.
just as you came.

come.
crying.

came.

I dam my throat to my heavy tears and lick the salt off my fingers and try to explain my logic to you.
to you.
and I've been told my logic isn't very logical.
I think you meant to say, my logic isn't very optimistic.
My logic is pessimistic.
not un-logical.

I just need to you accept that fact that you probably won't understand why I do the things I do; until I figure out why I do them. You look at me for answers and for clues into my little, wet, bungalow of a heart; but darling I can't let you in until I've done the cleaning and prepared you a meal. I can't let you in until I know it's safe.
Until I know why you came.
Until I know why you're asking me, of all creatures, for answers.

and I expect that will be quite some time.

Need, Enough. Quite Time.
Extremely.

I want to look at your sun-kissed and human-kissed face and tell you Why and How.
and even more specifically, Who.
But Darling, I can't manage letting you in, my bungalow, until I know every dust and deep depression is tucked safely under my patterned couch. Until I have patted and wiped away every tear and every anxious feeling. Until I have replaced and hidden every main ingredient for my soup - sadness and salty words.

I check my watch, anxious for my guest to leave. So I can quietly unpack my things and start up my fire for the next 9 years - watching out my window for the nearest visitor. So I can solemnly pack my things again and watch you as you wipe your face on my napkin and your feet on my door mat.

welcome.
come in.

Quietly,, Come. I; You Need Time?
No, Speak Here.
You Quit Sad.

I Need Sad.