Everybody speaks like they are giving the speech at the end of a movie

Everybody speaks
like they are giving the speech at the end of a movie
precisely measured
perfectly metered
impassioned
emotioned
baby talk

Pure drivel
A prayer to
self indulgence
faux intelligence
served on a platter
of inconsistent volume
and movie anti hero charm

And gone
Gone is the thing which makes each person
great and small
themselves

I consider it a triumph
for a mouse to speak with
a rodents diminutive speech
and not the trumpet of an elephant

And most of all
I consider my own voice
the ringing in my ears
the self regulated song of myself
I struggle to tally my breaths and sentences
and hope that simple arithmetic does not prove
my only reason for breathing
is to endlessly use a voice
which

I consider foul
distasteful
tinny
And over utilized

I long to be a star of the silent film
The Golden Age of Hollywood

A maintenance

I cannot push you
cannot will you to do what I want
it isn't my place
I cannot sit by wayside
and try to keep the clay
from crumbling off
because

I did not form you
you did
and others did

And you did not form me
though
I wish you would try
You do not have a sculptors heart
But that of an appreciatist
of art

And I have the sculptors eye
and no arms

I hope you do not crumble
I don't want to see that
to see your youth and beauty
not only fade away
but never fully realized

But I cannot save you
You can.

I cannot even convince you
to save you
only
You can.

I have to look away
and hope that every time i look back
you're still there
like i remembered.