The Absence You Imitate

You never told me that I was pretty.

A repetitive mistake that soon became your selfish ignorance.

The sway of my dresses, the way my hair curled and grew, and how my braids waved so you can notice.

Still nothing.

The way I caressed my lips with gloss, painted my eyes, and showered my nails with color.

You would never notice.

My beauty, my femininity is something you never cherished.

Little did you know it would disappear.

And now you want to see?

Now it is your responsibility to tell me what you see isn’t what you wanted?

Seems like you’re only there to tell me what’s wrong with me.

Now, I expect nothing more from you.

A forced hello and a dry goodbye.

A shut of your door that has left you more blind than you without your glasses.

A sour remembrance that I must swallow daily is the absence you simply imitate.

You’re there, yes, but absent.

You care? Honestly, I doubt it.