You Never Accepted My Letter Of Forgiveness

They say you know you have forgiven a person
when you stop telling your side of the story,
and start telling the truth.


I cleaned the whole house from top to bottom
and bought a book about making the most
of small spaces, seeing as I’m going to be
selling our house now.
I said when my life goes to shit the first sign
is how tidy my kitchen is.
You noted the knives perfectly sharp lined up,
in order and nodded without saying
a word.

Aquaintances stop me in the street and say
how are you holding up?
and I say I’m fine thanks and I wish you wouldn’t
use that voice, no one died.
I’m just another woman whose husband has left her
for a better model.

You see at first it was all about the jealous,
and the desperation to be thinner, prettier,
to wear better clothes and have shinier hair.
To make nicer meraingues and to earn more in a
more interesting job.

Then the jealousy fades and it’s all about getting
through. Me and my big old nice tidy house
that I can’t afford the mortgage on any more.
I’m buying a smaller place, I tell you,
when we come to sign the papers,
but I’m not telling you the address and this was
my house first so you’re seeing none of the money.
Fine. fine?

of course I’m not


After they fought she would always throw up
the front window and say she was calling the police,
pour herself a large gin and tonic and put
on her sexiest lingerie to wait for him
to come home, beg forgiveness and partake
in her special make up sex.

I remember that last day well. She did it in the
wrong order. G&T? Triple jack and coke, more like.
Four of them. First. Then she threw up the window
but she missed when she went to grab the sill.

Her body was a doll’s, broken in the yard.
I never heard birds so quiet as that day.
Even the policeman said jesus Christ almighty,
are you alright? alright?

well of course I’m bloody not.


She used to polish her fingernails whenever she was
the brighter the colour, the bigger the mess.
I would sit on the fluffy fluffy rug in her bedroom,
wideyed and she would tell me all about the world.
These are the things you mustn’t tell anyone,
she would tell me, narrowing her panda’s eyes.
this is what I did last night…

She would listen to David Bowie too loud too late
and slam the door whatever time she got in, giggling,
staggering, drunk.
I was in awe of her psychadelic outfits,

I wanted that bleach blonde hair, those stockings,
that figure. She said wait until you’re at least
thirteen to worry about growing breats and suspenders.
For now be muddy in jeans.

She would fight to high heaven for her freedom,
I never understood what she was running from until
it was far too late to help her safe.
She said that all the adults didn’t understand her,
she wanted them to all just leave her alone.

I heard doors slam and the rooms shake as they fought
and her bear Edmund and I sat clinging together in
the middle of the bed.

The last fight, she told me to get out, and when I
dared creep back, she was gone, and so was Edmund,
and no one was there to hold me when the adults fought
over what she was doing now.


They say you learn to forgive by growing up
not by growing old,
and letting go of bitterness,
and that when you learn to forgive, there
won’t be sides just sorrow.

I guess they weren’t taking their own advice that
I guess they forgot that they also told me not
to worry if your children don’t listen to you,
worry that they’re always watching you.

I watched them, and I learned:
here are the knives, lined up in order,
just like my mother used to do.
Here are my nails, sparkling with colour,
just like my sister used to do.
Here are the stockings peeping out of the drawer,
just like my neighbour used to do.

Here is my heart;

I want forgiveness,
I want redemption.

You Never Accepted My Letter Of Forgiveness


Joined June 2008

  • Artist

Artist's Description

You never accepted my letter of forgiveness and I resent you for that.

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