Your voice, too fast, chattering,
clattering against my Self,
breaking into my thoughts,
though I try to be inviolate.
Violating my own stream,
teaming with your own life;
every feeling you've had this week;
weakening my resolve to think and
thinking your words have a right to this space:
you fill every last bit of it until
it hurts behind my eyes
trying to hold my mind separate,
apart from the invading noise
of what he said and she said and he did,
and did you know and I did this
and this is me.
And I leave no space for you,
my friend, to reply,
apply yourself to the conversation,
let alone anyone else here,
held hostage to listen,
even several tables away:
even several mindsets apart,
because he was like and it was like and I was like
and I was never likely to blank it out;
outside wearing earplugs;
outside feeling comfortable
in my own Self
and my own words
that somehow always shrink away
To leave room for You
To talk as I cannot.