Unheard

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Knocking hard on the glass wall

making my knuckles red and sore.

Loud cross voice hitting the air my voice unheard so unfair.

 

I feel I’m trapped in a bell jar

an exhibit on display. 

People are looking 

but nobody is interested,

in what I have to say.

 

Such minimum significance,

I think I must hold.

I wonder is that because 

I was the last one born?

 

Suffocating in the bell jar the glass misted so no one can see.

My words echo around me,

 

“Someone, anyone 

please listen to me”


Submitted: May 13, 2021

© Copyright 2021 cmmorgan. All rights reserved.

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