Thoughtless things that you did and said hurt me,
starting from when you discovered
that I was no longer a child, assumed what I would do with my legs, and told me not to marry my love because it
interfered with your beliefs of separation of race.
What was most terrifying was the lack of anything to be felt because you had been dead to me for so long already, and all that you could really do after you said that line was to find how unforgiving I am, firsthand.
Maybe you thought I had done it intentionally, gotten myself pregnant to spite you, or my parents, or life in general,
but even still, you drove someone who would have been your strongest ally away. You judged me for being unmarried. You belittled everything from my mouth. It is because of you that I truly learned to hate myself for things
I couldn’t have controlled in the first place.
And then suddenly I was the bad guy
for running away and shutting you out,
and what choice did I have? You had done so much already, by allowing things to get worse. I told you about the abuse, and how much I needed someone constant, and you told me that you couldn’t, that you’d prefer your space. It was as if you and the whole family conveniently looked away.
I don’t blame you for what happened,
but you shouldn’t have blamed me.
I’m not sorry we weren’t closer
because that’s on you too.
And if you truly wanted in my life
you had every opportunity to make
amends, and instead you decided to hold out, because we are both stubborn.
Neither of us yielded, and neither of us won.