by Eric Y. Theriault

into thinking you might care
and I believed
for so very long.
Now that I stand here before you,
with pride and joy,
You look at me as a child,
and push me along
to share my new toy
with someone I know too well--
my very own self.

You pretend to listen,
and smile with your face,
but your eyes are so distant,
and clearly care not
of anything I've stated.
You were not like this before,
or perhaps I saw not the whole.
And those I thought were my closest
Are probably really the furthest.