It isn’t so hard to understand;

it’s all there if you will just

look around, it’s all perfectly clear.

There’s no mystery here

except why you can’t figure me out,

why you feel you need to,

why you can’t just open your eyes and

see me laying here in front of you,

all in pieces, neatly numbered for

my reconstruction. All parts

spread out quietly so you can understand.

You stumble over bits of me without

knowing, you don’t seem to

recognize me.

I have no secrets,

nothing to hide,

but you don’t bother to see.

I don’t do this for just anyone.

I won’t be doing it for you again.

by Cher Bibler