You never acted like,

Your words were hurtful,

But boy,

They were.


Every conversation was battle,

And I don’t know if I can survive,

This war.


I have bruises on my knuckles,

From all the times I tried to fight back,

Until at last I was left mentally punching walls,

As I crumbled inside.


When I was little I was always told,

Violence is not an answer,

And your kind of violence,

Had never been seen before.


You tore me down,

You built me up,

You cut me apart,

And you stitched me back together.




And after a time,

I felt less and less like myself,

And more like a clone,

Of your own devising.


If this is love,

Why does it hurt so much?


I wish I could say,

I only need time to heal,

But the truth is,

I will always have scars.


You acted like your words,

Were not hurtful,

And did not do worse,

To my mental,

And emotional self,

Then your fists ever could.


There is no shame is surrendering,

And leaving the field,

As long you know,

You don’t believe,

In the cause you are fighting for.


And boy,

I gave up on us,

A long time ago.



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