You talk about things you know nothing of.
Criticize what I do and the way that I love.
And I am frustrated by every word that comes out of you
because I want to believe them; I want them to be true.
You can’t know how I tried to be a good wife.
How, for years, I tried to give him a perfect life.
You only hear what time has made me become:
an empty shell, all hollow and numb.
I wish you could have seen me at my best
when I wasn’t worn down, jaded and stressed,
when I cooked like an expert and kept the house clean,
when the things that I said weren’t so bitter and mean.
This morning, my hands were cold
and you let me lay them on your warm skin.
You looked into my eyes.
It was without sin.
I wish you could somehow know
the person I am inside.
I wish I could show you
the person I’ve grown to hide.