do not pretend that i am
so easy to ignore,
so out of sorts or breathless
that my words lack sting--
do not pretend to write lines
that i will not read,
or make speeches that i
might never hear.
everything you do lacks
potency, but carries much
dormant anger: your mouth
twists as you remain silent,
your hands clench
as you tune me out.
you reserve your opinions
for other ears and eyes,
your rants and raves
for someone who is guaranteed
to agree with you.
but i am not so easily
put aside, not quite so easily
left behind as you wish,
and the words that i leave now
will remain here
etched into rocks like
commandments of loss.