Odette Oprean Poet Free verse

Why can't they hear me?

My voice isn’t small.
It has carried children,
called names in the dark,
whispered comfort into nightmares
that weren’t my own.
I have been the voice that soothes,
the voice that feeds,
the voice that says it’s okay
when nothing is.
So why,
when I say it hurts,
does no one stop?
I speak in plain words,
not riddles, not games,
and still I disappear mid-sentence
like I was never there.
A show turns on.
A screen lights up.
And just like that
I'm less important than noise.
Do you know what that does to a woman who has spent her life making sure everyone else is heard?
To stand here, hands still wet from doing for you, heart still open
and be dismissed.
I say I miss them.
They make plans without me.
I ask for time.
They give it away to others.
I prepare, I hope, I wait.
Like a mother setting a table
for children who never come home.
Do you know what kind of pain that is?
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s quiet.
Heavy.
It sits in the chest
like grief that doesn’t get a funeral.
I am not whispering.
I am clear.
I have said it kind,
said it calm,
said it breaking-
that hurts.
And still,
They do it again.
Don’t tell me they didn’t hear me.
They heard me.
They just chose
not to care enough to change.
I am so tired
of loving people
who treat my heart like background noise.
So tired of being strong enough to carry everything but not worth being considered.
This isn’t miscommunication.
This is neglect with eye contact.
This is watching someone bleed
and stepping over them
cause it’s inconvenient to stop.
And the worst part?
I would never do this to them.
Not even once.
Because I know what it feels like
to be unheard.
Because I know what it does
to a person’s spirit
when love is one-sided
and called enough.
So hear me now—
even if it’s the last time I say it:
I am not too much.
I am not too sensitive.
I am not hard to love.
I am a woman
who gave love like a home—
and was treated like a place
people could walk in and out of
without knocking.
I won’t ask again.
Not softer.
Not louder.
Not in ways that make it easier
for them to ignore me.
I’ve said enough
to prove I meant it.
What they do with it—
that was their answer.
So I am gathering myself now—
the same way I gathered yall,
piece by piece,
day by day.
Only this time…
I am choosing me.
And if you notice the silence I leave behind,
if something in this house feels colder, emptier, less held—
that was me.
Thats my love.
Thats my voice.
And you all had it—
every single day—
you just never
held it like it mattered.

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