I was yelling with you.

Yelling beside you
Maybe my mouth wasn't open
Wide enough
As I sat and spoke with you that day
And days on 
And with hand written words 
I left notes;
I felt with you and my eye's water did

But then I fell 
and slit my own heart on that rock; It hurt so much
but you never looked down. 
Kept yelling
Kept yelling
Kept yelling
for justice 

I wondered, then. 
Maybe it is too loud--when we call it too quiet--
To hear the ones falling at
our own sides. 

I wondered, then;
What if the loud doesn't make room
and instead deafens 
the painful rain hitting 
atop heads to the left,
and to the right—
and sure to come?

I wondered, then;
does our loud busy us 
beyond the ones who have crouched

just beside our heels to bleed?

I wept. 

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