He is without a doubt
my favorite today and
certainly my most
purposeful tomorrow.

Loving him is timeless,
but being his is everything..

He is poignant daydreams and stains on my favorite white dress.

I’ve been rooted with depression since I was born.

I never knew what it was, but I could feel the sadness and shame engulf my small body every time I heard that voice.

My dad, a shadow I occasionally saw on the walls, always fading down the hall.

Mom, trying to keep it all together for two girls she’d struggle to raise on her own.

The lies we were spoon fed about our father before we could even talk.

The mental and emotional abuse of the years that would follow from the person who raised me.

Afraid to be true to myself because I was told that everything I did was wrong, that I was dumb.

Asking questions I felt were important to me because anxiety and ocd rooted their way into my body before I was even a teen.

Learning to mask my feelings and emotions from that voice because I didn’t want to feel like there was something wrong with me.

I didn’t want you to see that there was something wrong with me.

You didn’t give a **** about me, but you really had me thinking you gave a **** about me.

Dug yourself into my guts and made yourself at home.

When I was crying all you did was leave me alone, wouldn’t even answer when I’d text your phone.

I slammed your car door and walked up the block and you still didn’t give a ****.

I sat on the ground, on the cold cement with my face in my hands after you told me all the lies you hid.

I said goodbye to you for the last time, walked around the neighborhood yelling aloud to nobody and nothing.

Got home an hour later and abused the skin of my leg with whatever I could find.

Blood dripping from my skin and you still didn’t give a ****.

You never gave a ****.

Since I was a child, I’ve been used to disappointment.

I’ve been used to broken promises, getting my
hopes up.

Always let down easy.

Used to people leaving.

Everybody hurts some way somehow.