I gave you my trust, but you’ve broken it over the aging years.

I try to understand your ways of teaching, but you’ve grown ignorant of them.

I tried to give my all to you for your own happiness, but it turned vile and hard.

I provided you with my love, but you tossed it aside when it was inconvenient for you.

I believed in you, giving my life for your once gentle hands to hold and bring me comfort, but cold touch laced your fingers and illness was brought from them.

I’ve even broken my own guard for you!

But nothing forces you to see this sacrifice.

You’ve left my tiny form to rot with these creaks and fractures done by your careless hands, causing such damage you’ve grown to lose sight among your hindering gaze.

But a question is what I’ve built over these longing years, the longing for your care and praise any person should ask for from your title in life.

Why? Why is it that I must suffer from your misjudgment and carelessness of life and see you walk unpunished?

And why should I call you such a name that brightens any other? Why should I let you have the right to care for a person you’ve called a child in your aging time but toss them to the side when the other woman grows more important to you?

I’ve watched you from the sidelines, asking these questions and pondering your reaction if my scared lips muttered them out loud.

What would become of you if they lingered along your earless hearing? Would you act out in rage with eyes that are blind, or would you play that victim of sadness and cry your so-called heart?

But yet, I kept quiet. I kept quiet for years of this abuse you’ve seen to go unnoticed by.