I’m Always Afraid to Write of You

You sit across from me, watching, staring. I look away because you’re too much; unashamed in the way you want me. Eyes so full of me, I don’t need a mirror. Devilish grin that screams “Fuck me” and I’m eager to comply. But my body is afraid, pinned to the chair that separates us.

We play a little game. And I realize it’s all a game. Then I wonder, how long will it take for you to leave me? To realize you’ve had your fill and move on to the girl with the curly hair that dances salsa? I wonder, am I still an open book- You interrupt my thoughts, “What are you thinking?”

I do what I do best, lie the way he taught me to… without scratching myself or brushing my hair back. You won’t even notice. And God, it’s nice to have some things that are mine. To have insecurities and doubts that I can keep, bleeding on the palms of my hands. For once, I am alone.

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