You thought you could destroy me,
with hurtful words you wrote,
You set out to demean me,
and, perhaps, to gloat;
You hammered words unkindly
and set forth all my faults
and wrote them down on paper,
Numerous insults.
I could not rise to meet you
in this verbal dark attack
for I recalled my mother
and words not taken back
and a lesson that she taught me
a child, upon her knee,
for once it’s down on paper,
the words have been set free;
Nothing can restore you
or make the words undone,
and by my very silence,
You’ll never know I won;
Better, then, to write words down
in a journal or a book
and keep it all within yourself,
where no one ever looks.
Sandra Lee Smith Originally written 4/5/08–updated 5/6/18
