Wounded


What was it that I said this time?
Its only eight a.m. and you've been set off just by what?
Fists pound the table top.
Was it that I took too much time this Saturday morning,
making coffee, cereal pouring?
Shall I just tiptoe?
I'll never know just what makes your anger flow.
I'm hurting but won't let it show.
We've got a little boy, my smile is what he knows.
People say I'm a wonderful person,
but you sleep the day away while I'm broken.
You ignore my words,
the strongest form of hurt.

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