Men Who Like Us But Don’t Love Us

You'll forget me before I've washed your scent off me. 
I'll lie next to you, unsated, 
Tracing the trail of your touch on my skin, 
The taste of you still soaked in my lips,
My joints sore and aching with restraint 
From trying not to wrap myself around you, 
And make the night into more than you mean it to be.
Yes, you'll move on while I'm still basking in an a afterglow
Brighter than the morning twilight in which you’ll draw away from me
With a frown on your brow...
You'll fill the silence with scattered commentary about traffic, 
This girl or that girl and, “by the way give me her number.”
I will acquiesce, my face so impassive 
You couldn’t tell I was gutted if you tried - not that you will, try. 
Soon as I fill you up you’ll be off to give my love to someone else. 
Only when they've emptied will you remember my name. 
And I will not turn you away because 
That would be my mind fueling a mutiny against my heart. 
Compassion is my bone marrow and you know it. 
You won't see me drowning, 
Choking on my own regurgitated thoughts, 
Winding myself up in suffocating loops and knots.
You'll tell your friends that I'm coming on too strong, 
That you like a woman who gives you a good chase, 
So, I'll wait three days to text you back 
And I'll wait five rings before I pick up your calls, 
Make up weekend plans or set myself on fire, 
And you'll still just sit there, 
Oblivious of the inferno blazing by your side. 
Do you even see the woman I am or 
Do I bend to your will so convincingly that you believe me 
To be a contortionist? 

by Purity Wanjiru

Purity Wanjiru is an emerging writer living in Nairobi, Kenya. Before she started writing full-time, she got a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Accounting and Master’s Degree in International Business Management and worked briefly in the hospitality industry. Her essays and urban fiction appear on her website