This is a poem I’m writing for me
And sure, it’d be satisfying if you heard it
But even though you’ll never get it
I’ll write to ease the burden

I know you think that all this time we’ve been healing from each other
But in truth, you are healing from your father and your mother

True for many, but it wasn’t me who gaslit you, controlled, manipulated
Your childhood fears taken out on me, ego projected

The world beat you, I’m so sorry
You could’ve been great
You could’ve changed the world, like fate

With the intellectual potential of a hundred beings, the motivation and confidence of none
“Fearful and sad most of the time”
Diagnosis is a doorway to healing, not excusing abuse
A moral compass: pick one

And so I’m doing the real healing from the trauma you received
As a child years before I ever knew you
Forced to carry a burden that curved my spine
While you heal from being held accountable for your actions

How will you handle it now that you’re conpletely alone?
You do not deserve to be in a room with others
Until you can learn how to treat them
Like a child being punished for what they have done
Your consequences served up with a silver spoon given to you by mom and dad

I don’t miss you