I never know what to make of your words

So I ignore them.

And see instead

The source of this gibberish

And therein I see

Sometimes fear

Sometimes guilt

Sometimes need

Sometimes concern…

…always vulnerability.

And so…

Even though your words say

That you don’t care

And that

You couldn’t be bothered

I agonise no more over their meaning

But see now

With only the simplicity of my own heart

Your own wounded innocence.

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