he pretends to care about my interests
because i care about them;
though they are of no interest to him
and frankly he thinks it's stupid.
he bores himself when i talk,
but he listens for my voice.
i thought the connection we had was real,
but he was more interested in connecting in his head with my chest.
i'd bable about my life,
while he told me it wasn't that deep,
but he'd still ask to hear more
only because he knew that's what i wanted to hear.
he would call me at night
asking me to sensually sing him to sleep.
asking me to concur that his
inchworm was alluring.
eventually he stopped pretending to care
telling me that it didn't matter what i said so long as it was i that said it.
YOU ARE READING
sometimes rain, sometimes rainbow - poetry collection
Poetrya collection of poems, written in real time about the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with healing. PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS this poetry collection includes themes and descriptions of: sexual violence/assault/harassment PTSD halluci...
