Tell Me

I'm not a mind reader.

That's what you said.

You claimed you could never tell

what was going on inside my head.

Tell me what's wrong.

But you gave up.

I hesitated.

I waited too long.

And the truth is

sometimes I wake

in the dark of night

feeling trapped.

I have a bag packed.

Are you okay?

It's in the back of the closet we share.

It's roomy but light.

I know I shouldn't go,

but sometimes I think I might.

And I crave every touch of your large dark hands.

I love the feeling when your lips cave to breathy demands.

But then sometimes I hate you.

The way you hold me in bed.

The way your too warm skin presses against mine.

And your heavy breaths sound in my ears

and I can't sleep, and you won't stop, and it's all I can hear.

Why won't you talk to me?

Now there's a question.

But now that you ask,

I have a confession.

I need to know what's going on.

To me leaving is like an obsession.

My soul demands freedom.

I know it's wrong to make you the villain,

And maybe I'm just looking for a reason.

Tell me.

Just watch.

By spring season,

I'll be gone.