I’m having this conversation

With myself again.

The one where I’m talking

In your presence,…to me.

And for every expression

Of innermost feelings,

I get no response but

The palpable shifts of aura.

As you recline into yourself,

Cautious not to speak.

While mentally planning  my escape,

Hearing you repeat words & phrases

With a mocking disbelief.

For should the opportunity arise

Like it’s now presented,

Any excuse will do for you.

So I’m much more intent

On just honestly venting.

Leaving painful truths behind,

Hearing little of what I’ve said,

You overlook the substance.

Upset that I should be

Anything but grateful

To be in your presence.

All this got me thinking

That talking is useless

Since loosening what bound us

I’ve stopped forcing together

What’s clearly mutually exclusive.

To free myself

For more deserving issues.

ria – circa 2007