She listens to his thoughts.
It is not a conversation, it is an unloading.
She a shape-shifter,
A pretend pupil, a patient teacher.
She enquires and arranges
When she missteps
He expresses his condescension.
He a genius, a mind few understand.
A generous sort,
That engages with womenkind,
And has them sized up.
He sees their potential,
If only they would listen.
These roles, so tiresome
For her at least.
Why play this game?
Why bother with pleasantries
And a constructive attitude
That does not help her grow,
That does not help her flourish?
Her thoughts simmer inside her
Within the time she spares her "hes"
It turns to vapor.
Is it her fault?
Did she cultivate these egos?
These bores with high self-opinion?
She wished she could be
An ungenerous sort
And disengaged.
She wished she could leave them
In the hollow of their own minds,
To be their own sounding boards.
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