You must take me for a fool,
if you think I do not know.
To think that I would never find out.
You'd think me silly to let this go
so why puzzle why I’m mad?
Why do you ask what is wrong?
When it's your footsteps that make the noise.
Did you think I would not find out?
And how naive of you to believe
that I should let this go.
I’ve let you use me, through and through.
I've let you tear me down in all I do.
I’ve let you hurt me!
So did you really think
That I could ever let this go?
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Comments about this poem (Hard by maria goodison )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(3 June 1926 – 5 April 1997)
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