I.

you have to get drunk to be nice to me
and you have never called me beautiful.
i thought i was done with boys
who like to shut their women
in trophy cases,
yet here i stand.
when i fall silent
you keep talking,
you grab me without permission
and i cry on the drive home;
this is who we are.
everything is too calm, too sterile;
we are too polite, putting napkins on laps
like it means something,
you’re telling me the same story over again
and i’m nodding, again,
like it matters.
we make-believe love to forget
and we pretend that the kissing
is good.

II.

you think i have forgotten
the person you replaced.
i play along,
as if i still don’t cry about him
in the shower.

III.

maybe i stay because you aren’t asking much,
maybe i stay because i’m scared of what’s next,
maybe i stay because
feeling wanted
is the only way to be numb.

you could say that i’m letting you win.
maybe it really is
that easy.