Please
don't
pretend
to know my
joy when you don't know
well enough to know my own heart.
Cast your brush to paint a picture of my loneliness.
Empty and vacant, to revel
in the red ochres
and umbers,
vibrant
depths.
Yours.

And
don't
pretend
to know my
heart when you don't know
well enough to know my own pain.
I am the whispered memory of a sparrow's song.
Careening through the nothingness,
frightened and forlorn,
becoming
prey for
hawks.
Mine.

Just
don't
pretend
to know my
pain when you don't know
well enough to know my struggle.
Our small boat, it bobs and dips with each and every tide.
We are lost within the din of
the thunderous storm,
to ride out
its huge
waves.
Ours.