Dusting Myself Off

I squeeze my eyes shut
as I can feel your face
drawing nearer to mine.
your hot breath is on my forehead.
you’re shouting.
I apologize,
I’m not even sure what
it is that I’m sorry for.
but it’s not enough for you
nothing I did was ever enough
you’re angry because of something
I have or have not done
or some reason you have invented in your head.
what difference does it make?
it’s all just another excuse
to make me look like the bitch,
to assist you in playing the victim,
to help you convince yourself,
that I’m the one that’s fucked up,
unable to communicate,
or allow others to know me.
but you and I know the truth,
that you are pathetically insecure
and desperate for affection.
you had me convinced
that I needed you,
that I was worthless,
that no one else would love me
like you did.
everyone around us
could see it
but I was blind.
my eyes are open now
and when
I look back
I shake my head
at how stupid I was
for falling for it.
every time I tried to leave
you held on to my hand
you cried
you claimed you were sorry
and made me feel guilty
for making you feel so badly
how could I
have felt guilty
when you had always me feel a thousand times worse?
you’d knock me down
and I wasn’t strong enough
to try to stand without you.
and just when I was
at the edge of the cliff
with my toes over the edge
he came.
his eyes gave me confidence.
he saved me from you,
from the paroles of being with you,
from losing my sanity.
now the thought
of your slobbering lips on mine,
your fat fingers on my back,
your ape-like face staring at mine,
repulses me.
losing you
was the best thing
that ever happened to me

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