It's been three years

(a little more, a little less

I try not to keep count.

To do so hurts more than it should)

And you still don't know me.

You don't know my smiles, my looks, my words

Or their meanings

But I know all of yours.

The unfairness of it drips from the walls and ceiling.

When I miss your calls, there are no words

No texts, no voicemails, not even

"Hey, love you, call me."

Instead there is silence I am meant to fill

by chasing after you, waiting for you to pick up

Only for machines and silence to greet me once again.

You cannot claim to want a partner or an equal

When you can't even tell me what that is.

I am held to a different standard of work, of pay, of play;

Even my relaxation is held under scrutiny

(I can't play a video game without you

demanding my attention, yet I am expected to sit

quietly while you are lost in pixels and polygons.)

Our lives revolve around your schedule.

You call and ask what I'm doing at that exact moment

Then tell me to get ready because

we're "going out".

When I call and ask what you're doing

You're too busy for the rest of the week and we

Just have to "do it another time".

(When I ask about this

because I must wait for you

I receive silence as your answer.)

I am a convenience to you,

A trinket,

for when you're feeling sad and lonely.

Pull me out of the shadows and see me sparkle!

Just for you.

Only for you.

You do not speak to me, only at me

and treat me as a useless child.

Yet I am expected to be respectful, kind,

(Only allowed to raise my voice

when I can provide facts as to why

I'm so upset and broken)

To be otherwise is to be emotional, childish, immature.

(I still don't understand how ignoring emotions

is healthier than expressing them, even at full volume)

I have dreams for my future.

Dreams that include things I know you won't support

(even though I have supported you through

everything that has happened, every choice

you have made.)

I have been in your corner throughout it all,

But I am afraid to tell you of my plans, my aspirations

(so afraid, so tired and sick of breaking)

Because a part of me knows they will not be enough.

How can I marry you if we cannot speak openly?

You instruct me to never hide from you,

(hiding is lying!)

but to be plainspoken is emotional and rash.

And when you finally open to me, the secrets rush forth

A clear, sweet stream of truth and honesty

That dams with the passing of the clock.

I tell you

(now and again and again)

that I feel unwanted,


(like a piece of nostalgic trash)

You tell me you don't want to need anyone,

Or have anyone need you.

I don't want you to need me, and I don't need you.

What I need

(respect, honesty, patience, understanding, time)

has been told,




begged and pleaded.

(but here I am, writing to you once again

and you'll never see it)

I am a coward to continue this.

How can I continue this? How can I not?

(I do love you, so much.

Butterflies and tears when I think of leaving you,

even for just an hour, a day)

but I do not feel loved by you.

I am starving in a cage and you are ignoring my cries

(but not the cries of others, oh no.

To ignore the cries of others makes you bad

A bad son, a bad brother, a bad friend

But a bad lover? Why should that matter?)

I am only temporary, I see that now

A wisp meant to pass once the night is done

A fond memory, a ghost of your past

(One where you could say

"I loved her, once, but she didn't love me.

Not like I loved her.")

Martyrs make the best lovers, after all

Or so I hear.