Fill in the holes you've made

I am a communicator.
I am an overcommunicator.
If there was a word that encompassed One who communicates more than the world united together ever thought possible this one gal (SEE Moi) would house that enormity in her ability to communicate.

I am the Alpha Communicator.


I don't know why I always have so much to say.
But there are lots of people who have too much to say.
I, contrastly, always say it.
All of it.

There have been countless times when I've wanted to say something to someone and I did.
I will never be one of those women who sighs If Only or What If. 
I'm such a damn doer reactionary activist that if the thought crosses my mind I will act.
I'm the one God's holding onto by my coat tails as I scurry along in place ready to heave ho and have at it and He's ushering me to calm down and wait and kill the motor, little dude.

Patience, young grasshopper.  All in due time.

I hate wait.

So my most painfully challenging great wait to date?

I can't have contact with those I have so much to say.

Some people would be relieved to have the tear makers removed from their life. 
I know I SHOULD be.

But I have so much more to say.
And I have no way to say it.
I can't be heard.
I can't search for truth in their shifty eyes.

I can only accept all the words that I will never utter.

I can shout and I can scream and I can scribble away all these private dreams
but there are those who've been left blinded, who may never read my words,
those who've lost comprehension, where my songs would be sung to deaf ears.

And humorously, it bothers me my communication cannot be communicated.

But I accept defeat with poise and grace and delight in knowing where they are not, there are those who are.

And surely one pair of eyes, one set of ears work just as well as those who've disappeared.