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unspokǝn
December 22, 2018
it isn't the things that are said
it's the things unsaid.
the words that are right there,
but aren't uttered.
the apology I hope for
is trapped behind strings of
insults
lies
excuses.
I cringe and let those hit me
like waves crashing onto a shore
or a bomb exploding into the ground.
I guess remorse is too much to ask for
even for your own wrongdoings.
no apologies heard,
just the sound of my pen against this paper.
© Ashley B., North Port, FL
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