I have your picture, framed and hanging on the wall.
You seem happy in this picture, it’s right before things got hard for you.
I take your picture off the wall and bring it into bed with me, it feels like you’re here that way.
Sometimes I talk to you through the glass frame and touch your photographed face.
I love you, please come back to me.

I have done my best to avoid this house.
I didn’t like it here, I never have.
I was always with someone else, or sleeping somewhere else.
I haven’t been to this house in 3 months.
I really wish I hadn’t come back.
I had no choice, I had to come back.
I want to get out of here and never come back.

I smiled at you, you frowned at me.
I loved you, you hated me.
I tried to make things work, once you finally put toward effort I gave up.
You screamed, I self-harmed.
You said you hated me, I wondered if you really did.
I asked if you were ok, you said you were doing great while I was dying inside.
You say I’m fat, you told me the whole family thinks I’m fat.
You said you never lied to me, you did though, you lied.
I trusted you, you kept pushing me away. I did the same I was tired of trying to make you love me.
I cried and you never wiped away my tears.
I tried hugging you, you said you never got hugs growing up.
Affection is a good thing don’t you know that?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything.

Stain glass fills the room; I always loved looking at it.
Seats fill the room also; a cross is on the wall.
I felt so safe here at one time.
I always wanted to come here, this use to feel like home.

I’m not sure why I thought this.
I had a rule, fat girls weren’t allowed to have short hair.
What I was saying is, I wasn’t allowed to have short hair because I was fat.
A form of punishment you could call it.
I didn’t think I deserved to have short hair.
Today I was going to go get my hair done.
I was sitting and looking at a magazine, I was waiting to see if they had anyone available.
I don’t know why, for some reason I decided to finally cut my hair short.
While the girl was cutting my hair, I looked around and saw other clients.
I didn’t want to look; I was afraid I had made the wrong choice.
It was too late though; she was already cutting it.
But I raised my head after I gave myself a speech inside my head.
I said it is just hair. It will grow back Steph.
I peeked at it and looked down quickly.
I looked again, is that really me?
The hairdresser blow dried my hair.
She asked afterwards, do you like it?
I didn’t know what to say besides yes I love it.
I really love it.
Do I really love it?
It’s a big change from my long hair.