• I hate you. . .
    you can look into my eyes
    and you can see.
    You can see
    the shattered pieces
    of my soul.
    You can see the pain reflected
    back at you
    when you look into
    the depths
    of this
    murky brown.
    So I look away before understanding
    can surface,
    I look away before you
    can start to ask questions.
    But you always managed to inquire,
    and every time
    I'm caught off guard.
    You ask why I come to school,
    tears on the brims of my eyes,
    but I never let them flow in front of anyone.
    Why I
    swallow them down,
    force them back,
    so no one sees.
    Why I hope that no one notices.
    Why do I smile
    when I want to
    cry and scream.
    In answer to all his questions,
    I bitterly whisper,
    "The waters look
    so much clearer
    when you don't
    stir them up."
    He replies, taking me into his arms,
    "So you let everything
    settle on the bottom?"
    Then I cried.
    I'm not afraid
    to let anyone