Anatomy of Silence

After poem for "How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning I offered you trust, an open door without locks, My heart lay exposed, vulnerable on the rocks. You entered with a grin, words sweet as honey, But your exhale was ice, your caress felt phony. You spoke of my glow, then left me in the dark, Filled my mouth with verse, but your questions missed the mark. I poured truth in your glass, you gulped it down, Then smashed it to pieces, leaving me with a frown. Your grin sang me to sleep, your gaze was a trap, You stripped me bare, wrapped in a spiritual wrap. You cut deep where no looking glass could see, A chuckle laced with poison, from which I could not break free. You embraced my hush, then made it howl, Left traces in my nights, making me scowl. Now I walk with whispers you would not claim, Building self-worth from the leftovers of shame. I grin like embers—cool and exact, I have learned the price of sweetness and tact. So if you return to sample what is left, You will meet a girl who has swallowed her theft.