Just listen:

Not to the music on the radio

That always plays your favorite country songs.

Not to the sound of the engine,

Because you think it has a click.

Not to the sound of your own voice,

Speaking over me, always interrupting.

 

Just look:

Not at the television,

You won’t see your daughter there yet.

Not at your boyfriend,

You know I never liked him.

Not at the little girl,

I am grown up and leaving now.

 

Just smell:

Not the food you make,

Because I can make food too.

Not his after shave,

Because I find it sickening.

Not the garbage,

That is never gone now that I am.

 

Just taste:

Not the fast food,

You gorge on.

Not the wine

You have almost every night

Not the cupcakes

Because I made those for people I love

 

Just feel:

Not the selfishness

You always do

Not the pride

You always hold on to

Not the wrath

That you subconsciously use to scare me away

 

If you had just listened for once

You wouldn’t hear “I hate you” or “Goodbye”

If you had just looked for once

You would have seen that the clotted cuts on my wrist were not from the cat

If you had just smelled for once

You would have smelled the bittersweet antiseptic in the bathroom every night

If you had just tasted for once

You would have tasted my flat, salty tears when you kissed me on the cheek

If you had just felt for once

You would have felt true painful empathy, instead of empty pity