i say nothing.
cause i know its safe.
i do nothing,
cause i know its better.

you poke and urge,
pulling at the thread you spy.
and when i unravel,
you are angered by the mess.

i cower,
because i know.
i expect what im used to.
i strike out,
its in my nature.
eyes wide with what ive done.

a silence is what i allways return to.
a void left by my voice.
my words.
my honesty.

i cannot play the game,
i dont know how.
i speak my own language,
and i know,
you hate its sound.

so now.
can i expect grace?
understanding
compassion.

compassion.....?

do i start the old ritual,
of collecting memories.
in anger
in rejection
in knowing
that i wasnt enough.

deposit them at your door,
and hope for a smile.