I tricked myself
into trusting that I mattered
as much as I thought you did
and that every gentle touch
meant you'd work to be
everything you said you would
and that each fragile whisper down my neck
was a promise
of affection,
not a signal of coercion,
not a white lie to keep me down,
to have me resting next to your body
in shallow warmth,
lost in translation.

Eyes are windows to the soul,
but you always put down the shutters,
closed them tight when you smiled
and told me it was normal;
I believed it.