They are the only ones that misinterpret me. I am the only one that can help them.  Ten confused friends with cringed eyebrows and snarky looks on their faces. Ten who will never understand but will try. Ten empty-handed complaints spoken by all. From the court, I can hear them, but my coach says it’s all in my head.
Their voices are a secret. They speak violent words under their breathe. They speak louder and they speak softer and grab the attention between their shrugged shoulders and hit the wall with confucius fists and never quit their yelling. This is how they live.
Let one find truth for being, they’d all comprehend like the domino affect, each with their brains wrapping around ideas. Help, help, help they plead when I think. They wonder.
When I am too busy and too tired to keep thinking,  I have the voices asking for help because they never understand, then it is me that realizes I am their only hope. When there is no one else to help. Ten who were misinterpreted turned advised. Ten who couldn’t understand. Ten who only but demand.Ten whose only reason is to get help and get help so they could know the right from wrong.