Rage.

Claw down the walls, burn off my skin, shred and set fire to every last piece of him.

The coward that hides in plain sight. The one who says I can’t be hurt. The one who blames me for his small feelings of worth.

“You feel the way you choose to”, darling. You feel the way you want. You can write in any pretty words to make an ugly song desirable and feel less wrong.

The dust has settled and the battle wages on. But not for you, darling, you have been hiding and rewriting all of your wrongs.

Pretend you know my weaknesses to make me feel alone. Pretend you know the beat of my blood to make you feel strong. Pretend you dress me up in all your thorns to see my blood that says you win. Pretend my insecurities are what they aren’t to help you forgive your sin.

You choose to feel strong when you tear apart gardens. Mighty when they wilt.

Weaker when you hide from your feelings. Enraged when you can’t run from guilt.

Six years has changed the girl you used to plunder into ruins along the bottle littered ground. If who I am seems hardened then you can choose to pretend it isn’t because of what I’ve had to do.

Because of you.

Go on and choose.

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