My older sister once told me
that if you aren't making
sacrifices for someone,
it isn't love.

So I wondered if she
would be proud of the way
I'd sacrificed parts of myself
to make it easier for you
to hold me. The way
I'd cut off friends due to
your paranoia of being left
before you were able to
do the leaving. Or how
I gave up my dream job
so you would never have to
face up to your problem
of codependency.

I swore to her I would
be giving. It's funny
how ironic life loves to be,
isn't it?

Because while I was sharing
everything with you,
you were desperately
clinging to your only child
mentality. A little boy,
still scared of sharing toys
and feelings. The problem is,
I'm not a little girl anymore.

I've outgrown the myth
that boys hit you because
they like you.
Boys hit you because
you learn how great the
word no feels rolling
off your tongue.
Boys hit you because
alcohol turns smart
men stupid.
Boys hit you because
they are terrified
that you will realize
your worth.

And I finally have.
I do love you,
but I love myself more.

And now I finally
understand what
my sister meant.