-
I hate you. . .
you can look into my eyes
and you can see.
You can see
the shattered pieces
of my soul.
You can see the pain reflected
back at you
when you look into
the depths
of this
murky brown.
So I look away before understanding
can surface,
I look away before you
can start to ask questions.
But you always managed to inquire,
and every time
I'm caught off guard.
You ask why I come to school,
tears on the brims of my eyes,
but I never let them flow in front of anyone.
Why I
swallow them down,
force them back,
so no one sees.
Why I hope that no one notices.
Why do I smile
when I want to
cry and scream.
Why?
In answer to all his questions,
I bitterly whisper,
"The waters look
so much clearer
when you don't
stir them up."
He replies, taking me into his arms,
"So you let everything
settle on the bottom?"
Then I cried.
I'm not afraid
to let anyone
see
anymore.