You say the words like a scripted story;

expected, rehearsed, on time.

“I love you,” which means what?

In your eyes, or mine?

I have learned to read the weather in your eyes.

To gauge what version of me you need.

The good daughter, the grateful one, or the helpless child?

I bend and pull like a dead weed.

Love is given with expectation and rules;

silent and unspoken.

It isn’t your words, but your actions,

that leave my heart broken.

I become a shape-shifter in every sense;

molding myself for your pride.

Inside, I am screaming for your acceptance;

love that goes deep and wide.

But some nights I wonder what that would be like.

Would I trust it? Would I accept it?

Or would I go running the other way?

Would I believe you are legit?

To believe your love was honest and true

would be gambling on high stakes.

I have grown comfortable with our game of love.

I will do whatever it takes.