It’s like they want the censored version of our pain,
The no cuss words version,
The no bruises version,
The no self-harm version,
The T.V. version,
The happy version,
The version that just doesn’t exist,
Our version of events is one you wouldn’t like,
You don’t want to hear our side of the story no matter how much you beg us to tell you,
Whether it because it has that one bad word
Or we threw a punch,
Or we did any other thing out of the billion things you say are mistakes,
You want us to trust you,
But how can we?
You ask why,
We scream how,
Do you understand the dilemma?
It seems the last person to get it is always the one that needs to understand the most,
You preach that actions speak louder than words,
What do your actions say?
What does that deaf ear scream?
The rolling of the eyes, what does that mean?
The zoning out,
Everything you point out in us,
Yet is left unchecked in you
We know what we're trying to say,