But I’m going to stop writing as if I’m writing expressly for someone else to read. If that makes sense.
Take #2. I’m going to start writing for me. And no one else.
So it’s true.
You don’t care about me.
I don’t think you really care about anyone or anything
But yourself and your relationship with God.
That’s not true goodness.
Maybe I’m just mad that you moved away
And that you never wanted me like I wanted you.
Maybe if I hadn’t spent so much of my time impressed by you,
I wouldn’t care that you’re gone.
These words are useless because there’s nothing I can do about it.
I bet you saw right through me,
As clear and shallow as they come.
But obviously it’s only surface you saw
Because if you had seen deeper,
Surely, surely you’d know that you hurt me.
Surely you wouldn’t hurt me like this again.
Maybe I only saw your surface,
Maybe I read too much into your words.
Maybe if I looked deeper I would have seen.
You haven’t changed.
Neither have I.
Do you even know?
Sometimes I’m so positive you read me like a book,
But then others I can’t fathom
Why you would go and do that if you knew how much it would hurt me.
Maybe you think you can teach me, coach me
To leave you behind.
More likely you don’t care one way or the other.
I guess I should give up now,
Quietly retreat to my blue room and surrender.
That’s what you would have me do.
But I don’t want to do what you say.
I don’t want to follow your rules.
I don’t want to have red hair or be short or be skinny.
I don’t want to have to know music theory or believe in God
Just for you to care.