words

She says she can’t breathe, but I see her chest rise and fall.
She says she has food stuck in her teeth, but when I tell her to open up so I can take a look, I see she has only one tooth surrounded by gums.
She says she can’t see, but mentions how much she loves my new brown boots.
She says she has showered, but I smell her before she even opens the door.
She says she was up half the night, but her snore kept me up for most of it.
She says she hates juice, but where is all the Kool-Aid?
She says she barely eats, but her gut pokes through her shirt.
She says she’s missed me, but hasn’t called me once.
She says she is sad, but has laughed at all my jokes.
She says she can’t hear, but watches the TV on mute.
She says she likes to cook, but has never made me a meal.
She says she is here, but her eyes are looking over there.
She says she feels safe, but constantly looks over her shoulder.
She says she is funny, but has never seen my teeth.
She says she can’t walk, but we took the long way home.
She says she can’t talk, yet has told me all these things about her.

She says she loves me.