**** ruined you.
It ruined us.

I thought it was me.
My fault.
I needed to change.

I did my hair, my make up.
I danced for you.
I dressed in lingerie and costumes but it was never enough.
I couldn't live up to lust.

Then I learned it wasn't me.
I was your love for *******.

Slowly this diminished my love, my respect for you.
Worst of all it destroyed me, and all my self confidence I had in my self.

I convinced myself,
*** isn't everything but everything else had seemed right.
Maybe we can learn together connecting emotion with action.

Conclusion ended up being your lack of desire for *** and intimacy with me. Could it be my fault?

**** was always just one click away from any fantasy.
I would confront you and express my concerns.
Trying to make the two of us work.

You only got better at hiding it.
*** became a struggle.
Neither of us could reach that ******.
All you could do was blame me.
Then I knew....
You had the case of the prisoners' hand.

Could I wear more makeup?
What about white tipped nails?
Maybe I needed breast implants.

Now you want role play and ***** talks?
If that wasn't enough could I consider *******?

I tried to wrap all this around my head.
Thinking maybe these things would work.
We could become a couple again.

You could never find satisfaction.
So there could be no compromise.
Soon I lost my interest in ***.

It never seemed to bother with you.
I grew angry towards you.
Things began to come violent.

You pushed me twisting my arms and wrist.
Then threw me on the hardwood floor.
As my wrist began to bruise and swell.

How I missed being loved and cared for.
How I desired beautiful and emotional just plain naked ***.

All I feel....is lying here depressed.

I'd rather stay in bed then walk into you.
Every time I see you I take a deep breath, Turn around, and walk straight to bed and begin to cry again.

I ask myself...
Why did I stay this long?
Why did I try so hard to fix something that was never there?

For 6 years.
I believed you loved me.
When in reality you were in love with ****.