She screams out, “You're Not Worth It!”
and I call back “I know.”
For that's all she's ever told me.
I see her looking at me through the streaked glass,
and I wonder what makes me carry all her burdens,
better yet what makes me hate her so?
Yes, yes, I know, hate is a strong word,
but there is no other way to describe this relationship.
We go back as far as scented markers and play dough.
Elementary times, when hurtful words were spoken,
and she never once took up for me.
Instead she made me believe I was all those things.
The abuse only became worse with each passing year,
as she continued to beat me down.
I reached ages of physical yet not emotional maturity,
and my mind started to wander and wonder about the opposite sex,
and she had me tell her over and over I was wasting my time.
"Just look at yourself, no one wants you."
Her “I told you so's” stung with each rejection.
I cried myself into dark slumbers night after night,
hoping one day we might part,
but she had taken claim on my soul
so many years ago.
I tried to escape her grasp, even changed my name,
but she remained,
and as I said I do, I could hear her laughter echoing.
She started all the arguments with me and him,
creating panic, attacking with screams
and items flung through the air.
Making me believe that he and his love were untrue.
Locked behind doors, scissors pressed to wrists,
I heard her say “Cut deep,
for it's the first one that counts.”
I struggled to hear the cry of another
saying “Let me in,
let me in,”
and for that brief moment,
I felt I had reason to live.
My battle struggled on, though,
leading me astray,
and I searched for ways to keep her at bay,
causing loved ones pain.
I grasped the shame in the palm of my hand.
Holding tight that crimson letter.
My life unraveled,
breaking windows to the truth.
Exposed and vulnerable,
cowering beneath her once again,
I took the blows.
Wished I had strength to battle back.
By then I should have become immune,
but she created cancerous cells,
that I knew so well,
seeping through walls I had built.
I reflect a moment,
and reach for my pen.
© Suzanne Saxon, 2014
|"La Parisienne Japonaise,: by Alfred Stevens|
from Wikimedia Commons