How dare you tell me
that because I am a man,
I cannot understand her pain?
You were not there,
holding her,
as she cried
on the train.
You were not there.
You did not watch her
as she became stone
and lost in her fears.
You tell me that
because I am a man
I do not understand
what I watched unfold.
You were not there.
You did not walk her home,
asking fruitlessly
if she was okay.
You were not there.
You did not have to
close that door behind you
and die inside, too.
