You Are Grateful To My Fake Eyes

I let you see who you want me to be. You give me that look, which tells me I’m doing great. You are fooled into sharing your deep secrets. Because I look like that kind of listener. I am not, but I want you to think I am. You are so grateful to my fake listening eyes That you spill your guts into my lap I covertly shake them out onto the floor And stomp them thoroughly but secretly So you keep talking, thinking that I care. I am a master at not sharing any of my real self. I was taught years ago that people take their cue from your eyes. “The windows of the soul” some say. Mine are on auto-pilot, slammed shut. The hurricane shutters are tighter than those you buy at Home Depot. But you look into them and you are completely fooled. I am the master at showing you a false me whom you readily believe. Saving the real me for someone who has never arrived.