I pick all my soft moments and tuck them into a corner
The rest of the room is buzzing with hurt.
Sameness, autotuned lovebird voices,
Horrible choice of food
I bat no eye
The soft times bubble in their corner
And I poke them to their deaths.
A little bit of warmth, a little lack of lying
It would've been a cat I pet aggressively every day
But all my softness is plucked out
Shoulders relieved of what I didn't know was a burden.
Tonight I dine with him, eavesdropping on the table to my left
I am smiling to myself,
Why bother sharing the joke?
I eat a horrible dish and smile ear to ear,
He thinks it's for him
They think it's for them
I am warm in my own softness curated for a war unforeseen
My glass eyes stare back
Impossible to read.