I Became Your Therapist

Pro Bono

Because I was too nice

I’m easy to talk to (and take advantage of).

But I’ve realized how valuable my time is

As of late

And I confessed feeling used

Even after you confessed your love

Unrequited

Unfounded.

You never even asked if I were seeing anybody

Too caught up in the moment

Of seeing me as you needed to see me

Not as I am.

Feeling used isn’t a new one for me

But being honest about it

And severing ties

Is.

I wished you luck on your endeavors

Lamenting the hours I spent helping you

Using my creative energy for your projects

For which I’ll never get credit

And why?

For what?

Maybe because I saw a lifelong friend

A kindred soul

But that was dashed when I realized you were more interested in monologueing.

You wanted admiration

Not connection

Dismissing my friendship as valuable if there were no possibility of anything more.

I’m so. Fucking. Sick. Of. That.

Seeing women,

me,

as things

to hold

Covet

Not vibrant beings with their own fucking subjective experience and equal if not superior (emotional) intelligence

It was laughable when you said you loved me

Knowing nothing about me

I should have gotten paid for the growth I inspired for you

And the time you wasted.

No, that wreaks of bitterness, my time wasn’t completely wasted.

I stood up for myself like I couldn’t have before.

I’ll know I’ve forgiven you when I finally open the W.B. Yates book of poems you gifted me.

If that time ever comes.

It made it across the Atlantic to me

Your personal copy, complete with note on the sleeve.

Probably the only authentic exchange we have ever had

And now it’s left one sided

But the one piece you paid attention to is my love for the sea

I can’t fault you for that.

But I also can’t commend you on noticing …

Anyone would.