Admittedly, I still read some of your poems.
I did, just now.
You wrote that sometimes you think I forget that you were his victim too.
But.
He never ***** you.
He never abused you.
He never made you feel like you were worthless,
Always the last choice,
And he certainly didn't take your best friend away from you.
I remember picking out your white wedding dress with you.
I remember how beautiful you looked in it,
With it's laced back and fitting form.
I remember being happy that you were happy.
But in the room, as you tried it on,
I also remember feeling a little betrayed.
A thought nagged at the back of my mind:
"How could she do this, knowing what he's done?"
I still don't quite understand how you can be with him.
I don't know what the appeal is.
How could you walk around town holding onto his arm
Without thinking "they know what he is?"
Why do you want to be the girl who married a *** offender?
Why do you want to explain to your neighbors that your husband is on the registry?
I just don't get it...