You think I can’t see the hurt that’s there?
Your anguish is plain, it’s not obscured,
It’s clear to see, and plainly heard.
Your soul cries out in torment, pain,
I see the wounds that still remain,
You feel them raw; your soul is rent,
You do not see what they represent.
No matter how you obfuscate,
Your anger, pain, will not abate,
Until you can see the ones that care,
Who see you how you cannot dare.