Foreigner

In poetry, I lived
While with you I lived alone,
Y pensaba que nunca lo comprenderías
Because we didn’t speak the same language.
So I shouted with my pen
Because you just couldn’t understand me;
Lay myself bare,
Knowing full well that you wouldn’t touch me;
And waited behind transparent verses
That I realized would never attract a penetrating glance.
It’s only once I’d finally gone away
That you noticed my parting footprints on the page –
Only once you were far beyond the echo of my voice
That you heard what I was saying.