Yelling

You're yelling at me again. And I told you time and time again I can't stand it when you raise your voice I can't take it when you shout. Because now I'm yelling too and the only thing that will produce from this other than decibels of fear to the little ones landings stray ear is the fact that with every word exchanged I see it in your eyes you're giving up. On us. On me. Because I'm not listening anymore and you're not being heard I'm not good enough anymore. You kicked me to the curb after everything the kids just heard. You're not answering my calls you're not even looking at my texts anymore. You know that moment in the cartoon when the character realizes he's taken three steps off the edge of the cliff? I can't hear your voice anymore. I can't sleep I barely eat there's bags like way too much makeup from a clown under my eyes. And a permanent growl in my stomach almost like I prefer it there. I'm not myself lately I haven't been talking too much my clothing count if you saw it you'd think I'm suffocating. And maybe I am. But as far as I can tell there's a mirror in my room and somehow it still fogs up when I get close. And Jesus Christ my flashbacks I see you all the time but they're not good enough anymore. And I'm locked in a cage of silence. You won't even listen to me anymore. And I'd give anything to have you yell at me again.