I can’t erase you from my life. You are still a part of my story. You are in my memories. But they’re tainted now. I can’t ignore what you’ve said. And I can’t ignore how you’ve made me feel. You picked up the phone and kicked me out of your life. You sat in my childhood home and shunned me with memories of me in that house all around you. Even the very chair...
I’ve listened to your criticism for years. Your judgments. Your disrespectful digs. I’ve pushed them aside, along with my self-worth. I’ve continued to allow you in my life. Against my better judgment. But this time… this time is different. You’ve gone too far for far too long. I will still love you. But I will do so from a distance. I love myself enough now to only accept...
A quiet Sunday at home. Bellies are full. Air conditioner is blowing. Dishwasher is running. Laundry is done. Kids are happy. One is honing her VR gaming skills. The other is playing chess with Daddy. I sit with my notebook. White blueberry tea fills my cup. Each doing our own thing. All in the same room. Physically close together. Our hearts even closer. I breathe in the moment. I close my eyes...
You said we couldn’t fix this. You hung up on me. You blocked my number. You’ve put up your walls. You’ve shut the door. You’ve sealed up your windows. There’s no way in to you now. I can’t text you. I can’t call you. I can’t see you. I can’t explain. I can’t question. I can’t reason with you. You’ve pushed me away...
I hate that you left me. I hate that I’m questioning my worthiness now. I hate that just as I am starting to truly love myself, you have me questioning if I’m lovable. If I’m enough. I hate that you’ve gotten into my head. I hate that your choices, your actions, your mistakes are making me think less of myself. I hate that I ironically feel the need to protect you. That...
You sit there high up on your throne. In your room of darkness. Picking my life apart. Creating lists of choices not good enough. Negativity taking over. You shape your words into bullets. Stacking up your ammo. Guilt creeps in. You push it down. You turn it around. You look to me to blame. Ammo surrounds you. Animosity dripping from your brow. You pick up a word – a bullet. You aim it at...
