My Fault
"It's not my fault," I whisper
when past wrongs are brought
to light in front of my eyes.
Explanations pass my lips
Or false admissions do the same
But truly inside I feel so hurt
So betrayed.
I did that wrong,
Or I said that wrong
But why should I say I did it
when reasons float about
that easily can be pointed to
for my sins.
And when I do voice it
when I say I did this thing
Or yes I am this way
I dread what others will
inevitably say.
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