you make me feel, one type of way

conversations
shallow as a creek
you reach for my hand
before you give me time to speak
i wonder why
you aren't curious about what i think
but i betray myself
and my mother grieves
loving can be
different from what you believe
so i keep quiet
and wait for my hour to leave
and you will wonder
what changed my mind so quickly
slow to realise
all you do, 
is make me feel pretty. 

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