We sing to be heard
so the listeners listen;
with rhyme schemes,
our fine dreams
can finally glisten.
We bite to be heard,
for ignored is the dog
who whimpers and waits
to give her monologue.
We yell to be heard
over all of the noise;
lost in the soundscape,
we lose all of our poise.
But to only be heard
and not hear others out
misses what all of this
Shit is about.
You might as well brain-extract
and ear-snip
so that everyone knows
All that’s Here are your Lips.