Sleek and charming

I am not sleek and charming—
the words that fall from my lips
are jagged, unpolished,
like stones tossed into empty air.
But I do not deserve to be heard.
I am not sleek and charming.

You listen to them,
the ones who smile like mirrors,
their words sliding like silk,
their voices a sweet hum,
and I am nothing but noise.

Why would you care?
I am not sleek and charming.
Why would you look twice?
I am not sleek and charming.
The world must not see me
because I am not sleek and charming.

But you must love the enemies,
whose hearts beat with hatred for your country,
whose laughter is heard in destroyed eyes ,
whose promises are to terrorise lives.
They are sleek and charming.

I call out—
but I am a shadow.
I am a broken record
spinning endlessly on a forgotten track.
The echo of my voice
is swallowed by the wind.

I have no worth,
for I am not sleek and charming.
So what if I die in your silence?
What if my soul is lost
in the longing for one accepting smile?
I am not sleek and charming.

They can speak better of love.
So what if their words are empty promises
shaped in silver? 
They are pleasent on eyes and ears. 
They are sleek and charming.

And I—
I am the dust that never settles,
the name that fades without trace,
the thought that never lasts.
I am not sleek and charming.
And so I must vanish.