Written whilst reading Dean Borgman's 'Hear My Story: The Cries of Troubled Youth' ::



Listen. Put your ear to the ground. Hear the sound. Hear it. Hear my story. Hear my cry.

Hear it in my silence. Hear it in the hidden corners; faces buried, hair falling, hood up. Hear it in the make-believe tear stains, the black mascara diagrams running down my cheeks. Hear it in my band-name t-shirts, in my skin-tight jeans and tight-zipped lips. Hear it in my despondence, in my solitude, in my darkened bedroom door. Hear it in my razor blade store, in my criss-crossed arms and rose-petal stripes. Hear it. Hear my story. Hear my cry.

Hear it in my rages. Hear it in my outbursts and my violence. Hear it in my war-torn househould and my family-bound roars. Hear it in my kicking and my punches - in my wordless screams. Hear it in my anger-bubbling veins and the fury buried behind my gaze. Hear it in my broken window, in my grafitti-plastered streets. Hear it in my bleeding nose and their black-bruised eyes. Hear it. Hear my story. Hear my cry.

Hear it in my party style. Hear it in my nightclub-dance and pounding beats. Hear it in my sweat-soaked clothes, my blinking eyes and flashing lights. Hear it in the pills we pop, in the drinks we down, in my fallen stupor on the ground. Hear it in my empty-bottle mountains and my taxi-lost phones. Hear it in my senseless slur and my bleary eyes. Hear it. Hear my story. Hear my cry.

Hear it in my relationship state. Hear it in my interlinked hands and glancing eyes. Hear it in my paint-covered face, in my perfume smell and too-short style. Hear it in my hungry kisses and wandering hands. Hear in my partner-a-day life and my senseless experiments. Hear it in my floor-strewn skirt and my rough-torn pants. Hear it in my closeness, in my passion, in my drive. Hear it. Hear my story. Hear my cry.

Hear it in our culture. Hear it in our gangs. Hear it in our music-style, our suicides, our friends. Hear it in the clothes we wear, hear it on our streets. Hear it in our bedrooms, hear between our sheets. Hear it in our classrooms, hear it in our clubs, hear it in our houses, hear it in our love. Hear it in our outstretched hands, hear it in our fights. Listen to our story. Hear it. Hear our cry.

*listens with all my might and eyes!!!*

\o/

I knew ya could do it..jeeeze , perfect...

I really needed to have that perspective as well...

THANK YOU

You are, and remain, absolutely, brilliant.<333

You're one of only a handful of people i know who already does the listening. Thank YOU! xo

It's half listen , and half speak two way street so thank you, too.OODLES. *hugz*

*huggage right back atcha*

Fiddleyfoodle, bimbamboodle,
Diddleydoodle, oodle bird!