people try to
carve smiles on me
like a chunk of meat meant for the butcher
then try to tell me
to be afraid
and that they are
sorry.

people try to
tell me all the things that happened to me
fair or foul
describe them to me
in detail
and then reveal
all the inner-most workings
of the broken grandfather clock
that is my chest
like they've sat inside of me
for twenty years
observing
when they
haven't.

people try to
make me see reason
or their definition of it
but reason is relative
as is too much in this world
like
truth
and
lies
and
parents
and it doesn't bother me
to stare into them
with eyes that i hope make them hurt
somewhere
because i am not a grandfather clock
that sat in a church
for twenty years
i am a redhaired girl who used to smile
who even breathed
sometimes
and you never
knew
me