You told each other what I meant, What I had said, what I had done. You gathered pieces of a story And somehow made them into one. You knew my motives, knew my reasons, Knew exactly who I'd been— There was only one strange problem: You never asked me. September nineteenth, I sat there While accusation filled the room. I was stunned and barely speaking, Trying not to lose seventeen years of effort In one moment of speaking before processing. So I apologized for what you claim you heard Inside a request I'd never meant To sound like some demand. But there were so many other charges— And no one asked For my response to them. You never asked me. You talked around me, talked about me, Built a story with my name. You repeated what you thought I'd meant Until perception became blame. You decided what my heart was, What my words were meant to be. But for all the conversations about me— You never asked me. Then weeks went by in silence. I wasn't calling anyone. No angry conversations, No campaign for what you'd done. Then November brought another night, And suddenly there were claims Of calls I'd made and words I'd said— Things I knew had never happened. Still nobody came to me And asked. I heard I'd spoken badly of her. I heard I'd twisted what you'd said. I heard I'd pushed you from the family, Made demands inside your heads. I heard descriptions of a woman I could barely recognize. I wanted to answer, But I was excluded from The conversations You never asked me. You talked around me, talked about me, Built a story with my name. You collected every grievance And somehow I became The explanation for the breaking, The reason underneath. But you never sat across from me And said, "Tell me what you meant. Tell me what you see." You never asked me. And I still don't know the whole list Of everything I've done somehow. Complaints were shared in rooms without me, Accusations I don't know about. How can I change what I can't hear? How can I apologize or see A hurt I never knew I'd caused Because you never brought it to me? I can't repair what stays unspoken. I can't answer what I don't know. You wanted something different from me— But you never told me so. Maybe I would have surprised you. Maybe I'd have said, "You're right. I didn't know that hurt you. I'm sorry. Let me make it right." I've done that before. When you told me something I'd said Had landed differently than I intended, I apologized. Because I can own What actually belongs to me. And maybe sometimes I'd have answered, *"No. That isn't what happened. I didn't say that. I didn't do that. And I won't apologize For something that isn't true."* But we'll never know What those conversations Might have changed. Because you never had them With me. And maybe that's what hurt the deepest— Not simply that you thought me wrong. It was losing any chance to answer Before the verdict came along. You didn't have to believe me. You didn't have to take my side. I only wanted one fair moment To tell you what was mine. You never asked me. And now it's clear I may never get that chance. I may never sit across from you And finally give my answer back. So I won't spend forever waiting For permission to explain. I know the words I actually spoke. I know the choices that I made. I'll own the things that belong to me. I'll leave the rest where it should be. And if someday you really want to know— Don't ask everyone else. Ask me. Seventeen years. So many conversations. So many conclusions. So much said about me. And the one voice Missing from the story Was mine. You never asked me.
