It’s not as if the words I spoke
were really that far off.
You looked at me,
I stared right back—
you threw your fists against the wall.
Why can’t you hear me?
Why won’t you listen?
Is there anything I can even do?
It’s not as if the things I’ve done
could cause the pain
you accuse me of.
You turn your face,
I drop my head.
Why can’t I get your attention?
Why won’t you hear me out?
Is there anyway to get through to you?
It’s not as if you listened
when I told you what had happened.
You saw the pieces
left from before—
you somehow “knew” it was me.