On your manic days,
when I can't get eye contact from you,
when your phone is your best friend,
and cleaning up your mess,
is the only thing on your mind.
I keep hearing your words
"I'm not a cuddling person,
you should be grateful
for what affection
you get from me."
You say you didn't mean it.
Yet I'm a ghost in my own home.
Unable to get my husbands touch.
I question my existence,
my purpose,
and why I sacrifice so much,
only to be scarified.