Projection

you don't feel like talking
to myself yet i insist that we talk
things out
thresh the chaff from the grain
smoothen the edges
remove the creases
before the sun sets
you don't mind me at all
and now you are telling me
that i am angry at myself.

it is solved. You feel for me.
Now i can sleep.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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