Words slowly chip away
at the good that was
til they deaden a giving heart.
Plates piled high
with hurtful names,
or full of blame,
pointing angry fingers
with words.
(Clean up your plate,
must eat up the reasons,
all the reasons
why I had to change,
never you)
Finish lines moved
with more words.
I love you's thrown like confetti
as if your 'because' was real.
No more words.
If you love me,
show me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem