The loud slap of your hand

Across my face

Reddening cheek

Eyes filling with tears

I run out

You call my name

But I'm already

Each poem has its purpose,

A Reason why it's made.

This one is my apology

For those hurt along my way.

At times I may seem

Little Man
mystery, agony, and relief
all to be left and never to be talked about
Panic and haze I find the picture staring

Sorry

I'll never stand on a battlefield
I'll never go to war
The only fighting I'll ever do
Is with words with which I