Fake
None talks about the guilt that you feel
The kind that gnaws on your conscience
He’s being kind now, sweet and joyful
For years you’ve experienced his manipulation
That’s why his nice feels fake
You know what lies underneath
A blank stare that makes you want to evaporate
A stare that says “I dare you”
A booming voice
A quiet whisper, “I wish I wasn’t here”
He makes me feel like a fly
One that is easily squashed against the windshield of his car
His temper crashes against me, pushing me down
He loves me though
This isn’t love
I realise now this guilt is not mine
It was taught and ingrained in me since birth
It’s his guilt.
Is that why my skin itches as though it’s not my own?
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Author:
HerTime (
Online) - Published: February 25th, 2026 16:16
- Category: family
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu
Online)
Comments1
This is a bit heavy with threat and death of a fly a metaphor for the feeling of a person. Well done
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