A casual conversation turned wrong in my head
and you haven't a clue the pain you've caused.
Fun facts about ourselves is what we seek.
               Tell me five things I like
you request
and I rattle off a dozen items, categories.
                Now you,
I playfully demand.
                Five things about me. Go.
You spit out two quickly,
then stutter back to the first.
I watch, confused, as you falter.
A third stumbles out and I flinch inwardly.
Cute clothes? I ******* hate clothes.
I have no clue why you'd say that,
pick something so completely
    off
as a gift for me.
You're actually really hard to buy for
you try to reason with me.
And I'm offended.
I lay out a myriad of options quickly
that anyone with a passing knowledge
could pick up on.
Any item to do with
literature
art
crafting
cooking
would do.
How do you not know this?
I thought you knew me better than anyone?
You know that I have this weird obsession
with globes, can't resist running my fingers
over their surfaces, dreaming of traveling
all along them in reality.
And yet you make no mention of them.
Or typewriters. Or sewing machines.
My two biggest gifts I've been begging for.
And I am heartbroken.
It has nothing to do with material goods.
I thought you knew me,
and apparently you don't.
And I realize also, you couldn't
name even five things.