Different Skin, Same Voice

I said it out loud, you called it mine. Wrote it on

paper, still had my spine but I typed the same thought

into a glowing screen and suddenly you act like there's no me in

between. You think the medium swallowed the man. Like the meaning

got lost in the code in my hands. But the truth is simpler than

what you assume. A tool doesn't empty the heart in the room. You don't see

the edits. You don't see the fight. You don't hear the context I

carry inside. Why does your failure to understand turn into something I have to