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.
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