“Hello?”

“Is anybody there?”

Yes. There are people here. But can any of them hear me?

That, I don't know.

“Hello?” I shout out many times,

Over and over.

I explain things to these people

But weather or not I do,

No matter how many times I try to tell them,

It’s like they can never hear me…

“Hello?” A word I say,

Everyday. Hoping somebody will look over.

Hoping somebody will answer.

Hoping they will understand the question I am trying to ask.

“Hello?” My voice becomes raspy from holding back all the tears.

From sitting in that classroom, not getting the help I need.

Hoping that at some point, I’ll get it.

I no longer have the energy to say those words.

I no longer have the energy to find out if anybody can hear me.

It shouldn’t be like this.

I shouldn’t have to ask this question.

“Hello can you hear me.” Is never what I said, but it was what I was hinting at.

I hinted at it by asking the same sort of questions over and over.

But never once did I truly say those five words,

But they should have noticed that that is what I was really asking.

I’ve never said them but I’m saying them now, “Hello, can you hear me?” And it’s real this time.

I swear.