Emotional Trash

He loves me. He said it.
He doesn’t know that I know.
But I do.
And I distract him, a lot.
I can look up at about any moment,
and I see him there, staring.
But I don’t make eye contact.
Not one little bit.
He won’t see all the scars beneath
the perfect baby skin and manicured nails.
I buy new clothes to keep his interest,
but I need more dresses.
Because I know he’s a whore
and requires easy access.
I’ve halted his mind.
He’s more interested in me than the Quantum Theory.
Anyone else he’d have long forgotten.
He must think there’s something beautiful in the broken.
Something raw and untamed
like first kisses.
And he wonders why I only love him drunken
because Susan can be who both he and I want
while Rachel is tied to a hard past.
A past too full of the worse kind of pride to allow love.
I try to push him away
because it’s unfair to harden both our hearts.
One of us must believe in love,
and his parents are the ones still married.