you used my emotions as stepping stools on the staircase to a sense of control and superiority
your spouts of anger were constantly followed by a dramatic show of playing the victim that belonged on the stages of Broadway
you always said you would never do anything to hurt me but with my hands clasped behind my back and my mouth sewn shut, i had no voice to tell you that you were.
you were so good at making me think that each time you ran your hands through the strands of mind and picked one to pluck free, one that burned too hot on your soft hands, was a fate i had brought upon myself.
how dare i love so fiercely that when it is not aimed at you, it is a crime worthy of a night filled with tears and a belly full of self hatred.
and you were so good at making me seem like the bad guy. at making me feel that the way my blood coursed through my veins to a heart full of people it loved was wrong because you weren't the sole inhabitant.
fuck you for planting the seed of hatred for the very person i am so deep in me that you watered with each harsh word after an argument so that when a boy who knows how to handle me comes along it blooms out of fear and constricts my lungs with it's petals too pretty to be safe.
