Are of no different language.
Yet
Somehow,
No one understands.
Some people hear me
And write my words off
To be taken the same way
That every one else means them.
But, I’m different.
My common words have deep meaning.
They sound so simple,
The only confusing part,
Is that they’re true.
True and uncensored.
They are not plastic,
Not fake, not an act,
Not said
Just to be said,
But said,
To be heard.
Many others hear me
And take offense
To words spoken,
Not to harm
But to inform.
Words of truth
Are those of reality.
The only ones
That make people defensive
Are of what they
Don’t want to admit.
My words are not to judge,
To hurt or disgrace,
But simply,
To be heard.
I often think to myself,
Calm, yet glowing with
Anticipation swirled with sorrow
Of the day
When I will meet my Savior,
The One who hears with His heart.
The day,
When I will be heard.
Age 15