i think in badly written poem
thoughts left unknown to the ones not thinking. 
words left unsaid to the ones not speaking. 
feelings left unknown to the ones not touched.
                                                                    felt. 
                                                                    feeling.
                                                                      ..  
                                                                    fleeing. 

as with most slappings, it's the one whose struck who wins the match. 
--  
it's you 
it's you 
it's you 
it's you 

i hear it.
do you hear it?
 
it's you 
it's you 
it's you 
it's you 

i don't hear it. 
fuck- i'm crazy. 

went to bed knowing what i wanted. 
went to sleep knowing what i needed. 

'cause i'm just a little girl, 
in a small world, 
in a big world, 
in her own world. 
you'll listen to me, finally. 
when they're the last words you hear, 
finally. 
finally.