It’s not easy to move on,
from the last 12 years.
It’s not easy to erase them,
the memories you imprinted on me.
I know you’re a better man now,
but does that make up for everything?
I can’t forget the nights
I was sobbing in my room,
all alone, with no one to turn to.
I can’t forget the sound of your voice,
as it echoed through my room—
so loud, I put my hands over my ears,
yet I still heard it, loud and true.
I can’t forget the sound of broken dishes,
as you threw them across the room.
The sound of my favorite mirror shattering,
as you punched through it,
and turned your hand—and my heart—
red and blue.
I can’t forget the late-night hospital visits,
the stitches, the injections,
the crying and screaming—
all because you wanted that **** high,
the one you got from your bottles,
the one you wanted so much more than me.
I say that I have forgiven you,
although in my heart, that’s far from the truth.
I don’t know if I’ll ever even be able to,
not after you made my best years
so nightmarish,
that I shudder when I think of them.
I shudder when I think of you.
I wonder if you shudder too.
The story of a young girl who saw too much and learned the feeling of hatred much too soon.
