You brought out the worst in me.
I deceived myself continuously.
Wanting to be someone else, trying
To find out who I really was, ending up in
Endless dead alleys, with you, and your
Desires and confinement.
I always thought that I was in charge.
That it was me in your hands.
Something that should have felt liberating
And free indeed, you and I, shackled and strained instead.
It had never been right. I was afraid of your rage,
The familiar patterns you displayed, that had
Nothing to do with what I really wanted, quite the
Opposite actually. But I grew into those disastrous
Footsteps that made my own invisible to me.
You, like my father’s hands, you like my father’s
Mouth, like them all, lingering, festered, no more.
As long as I had no love for myself I’d remain
Bound to your body and everything it could never give.
Thinking of you made me ill and I thought
I had butterflies in my stomach. Now I know that
It was my body saying no, my innate saboteurs saying yes.
I wish I could just shed all the shame and guilt,
The inherited thread that was never interrupted
And replaced with something better, something
That just was and needed no justifications or apologies.
Something that wouldn’t hurt or go wrong on purpose,
Something that was empowered and wholesome,
That could never be brought down by anything.