you are not in love with me,  i want to yell,
you are in love with a fictional caricature.
the one i present, the one i script perfectly so you see no flaws
i hide my bad habits in the quirk of my brow,
falsely innocent when i shrug and say uncle,
so that you'll laugh and back down.
you'll forget about this, partially distracted and looking away,
and in that time you gaze off into the distance i will hide:
the lies i tell my mother about our relationship
the gumdrops i used to take from the sweet shop down the road
the breath that is stolen from my lungs when i cry silently at night.
i rush to bury these things in the knapsack i carry (stuffed full as it always is),
a literal weight on my shoulders.
you look back at me too soon.
i raise my brow.