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Dec 2013
I’m bending over backwards, cracked words falling from my lips as I try to explain to you who I want to be. My spine cracks beneath the strain.
You turn every phrase I try to translate to you into some spiel, shoved into my face. You called me crazy for being a creative thinker.
The materialization of my existence bursts forth into vibrant colors, a catalyst sparking my unwillingness to become you, who “raised” me.
I still have scars from the lies you carved into my skin, I scratched their opposites on top of them to blot out the dark tendrils of your misery and replace them with my own faltering hope.
Burning and tearing trying to prove I’m not the monster you tried to make
Taking charge of my own youth, teaching my own self discipline to restrain the unfathomable hate I have what you’ve done
At 11 years old you had lora, your /new wife/ steal my diary when she kicked me out of my room to clean it. That night her, sara and yourself read passaged from it aloud and laughed at me.
You turned my brothers against me so I’d always be fighting alone, pitting us against each other like wolves, but I got kicked out of the pack.
I became a fire
Scorching pages of my life’s history till it was erased, retaining the anger of memories and bridges burned.
I was never the villain you played me out as, I learned all my swears from you. I learned all my negatives from the influence you provided. You taught me hatred
I was never the victim you tried to turn me into, maybe I thought I was, maybe I believed it for a little while. That fabrication was never true, never who I was.
You said I was your favorite, yeah maybe your favorite to tear down, your favorite to break.
I’ve figured out that people only try to gain forgiveness from things they’ve broken  after they’ve messed them up past the point where those relationships can be mended,  its proven with you, with my brothers.
You made too many mistakes to fix this, not with gifts, nor with promises that are broken before they leave your lips.
We share blood, I came from you, it seems my value dropped the moment I was born, and obviously you cant respect women enough to give your daughter enough of a chance to fight the world. So I forged my own weapons, sharpened my claws with the will to be better than you ever were.
Nina Messina
Written by
Nina Messina  22/Agender/Maine
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