Whispers, the whispers all around us.
Running through your mind. My mind.
The hallways, stores, sidewalks, everywhere.

The whispers that are there to either destroy us or build us.
Whispers wanting to be shouts,
But never strong enough to do so.

Whispers wanting to stay whispers.
They’re the secrets we keep trapped deep inside.
Then there’s the ones, through our mind constantly.
You don’t always notice them.

When you want to say something,
But keep quiet.
You’re wanting to shout out at someone or something,
But you hold it inside.
Letting it continue to build and build.
Building so much,
Your body is filled with these tiny voices
That are never heard.

The little kid wanting more attention
From a busy parent,
But doesn’t say so.

The old widow who wants love,
But is to afraid to search.

The young couple that love each other,
But are hurting themselves
In the process.

The single mother who needs help,
But will sound needy and desperate to others.

The hard worker who a needs a break,
But never admits to themselves that they do,
So they trap themselves into a box.

The whispers flow through a stream
That nevers gets to see the ocean.
That never gets evaporated
And rained down on the earth.
They’re just in a void of never seeing the light.

We constantly speak or scream nonsense.
The shouts that don’t need to be said.
The hate.
The ignorance.
The rude.
The evil.

Shouts that hurt our ears,
But our ego loves.
The hate we pour over ourselves
To find happiness in a place
Where there is none.

So the whispers in the stream,
Build and build.
The happiness that is locked away,
So we can slowly kill ourselves with hatred.

Stop!
Run!
Go!
Come back!
I love you!

The whispers that want to turn into shouts.
Not the shouts of evil and hate,
But the shouts of love and encouragement.

But the whispers don’t shout,
They speak.
They speak in a soft manner.
A loud manner.
A loving manner.
A manner that all want to hear,
But they think they don’t.

No one hears these whispers.
We only tell these whispers,
To the religion we find ourselves in.
Or the long gone family member.

They get spoken,
But spoken to the unknown.
Spoken to something
That can’t let others know what is being whispered.

But in the end,
A whisper is a whisper.
They are voices unheard.
They are little words flowing
Through our head.

In the end,
We don’t want to let them out.
We want to float in an ocean of lies
And hate and evil.
We find the bad, funny.
And the good, boring.
We find the helpful, weak.
And we find the ignorant, strong.

Because, in the end,
When we let these whispers out,
All of a sudden we’re left vulnerable.
And when you’re left out in the open like that,
You’re the next prey for a shout.