With a heavy heart,

I lay my soul out on the page

And wait to see what people say.

Do they love me?

Do they hate me?

Or are they silent?

I think the silence hurts most.

A page painted with my soul screams,

Yet no one replies.

Why?

Is my soul not loud enough?

Is my soul not smart enough?

Or is it just not important enough?

Am I not important enough?

To anyone?

Or anything?

If I died by my murderous hands would I become just a number?

A statistic?

I want to be more than just a number.

I don’t want my identity to be reducible to a card.

Because I am a person!

Not a number!

My story is complicated enough to fill a book.

It can’t,

It shouldn’t,

Be stomped down to a note card.

Life is hard.

Life is torture.

Life is anything but simple.

Life can even be sweet.

So don’t you dare dumb it down.

Don’t you dare attempt to dumb me down.

Because you shouldn’t.

You can’t.

I am a person.

So will someone please reply when my soul lets out a cry?