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Believe

I refuse to watch you cry again.
	Something inside you does it
    Makes you turn ‘em on, hoping
that I’ll		Just. Say. Sorry.

	I got nothing to apologize for.

You get to this point,
  at which, and I’m not lying here,
you actually think, more than that,
		believe,

	(Yes, BELIEVE, my brothers and sistahs!)

			that you can change me.

Throw as many of those emotions,
	The ones laying in wait,
cling/to the hope
		that guilt will make me stay,
cover your face with blankets – tell me not to look.

Do all this as I bump my shin on the coffee table
		on the way to your door.	FUCK!