Here’s a poem I wrote for JD Mader's 2minutesgo website. It’s a great place to go and write whatever is in your head, and read what others are writing in the group, and give/get feedback. It happens every weekend. Cheers.
He watches her every move, every
Little thing she does, however trivial;
He peruses her, like she is a magazine
Fallen wide open, pages flickering,
Waiting on a shelf for his eyes alone.
But he’s never spoken to her,
Never lingered in the same room,
Never asked her a simple question.
But then it would spoil the game.
He doesn’t want her to become too real.
She doesn’t know him, yet she feels it,
This constant pressure, like water dripping,
An endless commentary of radio silence.
It makes her feel sullied, overheard, as if
Every conversation is now his, to study,
To disrespect, to judge, to ridicule.
He reads her life as though it was his own.
She is the insect, his captive, his prey,
Stretched out like a butterfly, pinned.
And she prays for him to stop.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 8, 2018