I heard you.
Whether or not you know, it's true.
Little jabs you made in jest,
Squeezing the air from my chest.
I heard you.
I lie awake at night thinking if you think so little of me, what will other people do?
You're forgiven, but I'll never forget.
All these years with eyes still wet.
Believe me when I say,
I'd love to forget if I could find a way.
That's my punishment, my prison of existence.
I struggle but it won't give in to resistance.
I heard you.
As you laugh at my expense.
Read the room, how can you be so dense?
You don't even realize what you took from me.
But it's something I'll never get back, don't you see?
I heard you.
And for it, I am forever scarred and blue.
My confidence is shaken, regardless of how I appear strong.
It's no thanks to you that I discovered you're wrong.
Maybe next time you'll think and let me be.
I heard you, now can you hear me?
About the Creator
Dee Meinville
"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."- Mr. Knightley, Austen's Emma
Struggling med student, tortured soul (what poetess isn't), devoutly Catholic. I write to express what goes unsaid and to stand for the voiceless.
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