A year's worth of growing
again by her side
So much time to become knowing
how I handle, how I hide
This year I wrote a poem called "Plates,"
which subtly revealed our sorry fates

A year's worth of distance and trauma.
You are unaware that I have beared
though you bear it too
We began to constantly fight.
So I wrote a poem for you called "Blue"
and it was about that night.

A year's worth of time
to let your anger unwind
yet the finger remains pointed at me

You say it's not my fault
although it may be
But I was too young to discover
*How the loss of love for a daughter
is impossible to recover