All I ever wanted was for you to love me in the pure and simple way that I loved you.
Brazen to the world.
You kept me in a closet so long.
I watched you love other women and they would flaunt their intentions in front of me.
I watched and I begged even more for you to love me.
I gave you a home and you punched holes in the walls and broke glass on the ceiling.
At times it was like you were really there–
Late at night, driving, windows down, and music blaring.
You would leave for hours but come back with gifts and flowers. You cooked us small dinners and we ate by candlelight.
When you said, “I love you.”
When you said, “I always come home to you.”
Oh, how I longed these words to be true.
I thought I could live the rest of my life with your betrayal and lies.
I accepted them.
I expected them.
But soon not even I was of use.
You cringed at my touch.
You ran from my kisses.
And when I cut my flesh…. when I stabbed that thigh, you saw. You saw and you slapped me.
Like a little girl, glutton for punishment. I wanted it.
I. Just. Wanted. You.
And wanting you destroyed me in every way.
It’s been a year now, but I still recoil when I touch my own body. And I wonder, if anyone could ever touch me again without feeling disgusted.
I hate what you did to me but I hate myself more, because I allowed all of it.