All too often your indignance guts me, beating me down with hateful words; I start convulsing, disintegrating inside. I can’t please your crazy. I have tried. You see me as your prey, an easy target. I want to make you happy, satisfy you, but you know how I work. You purposefully attack my amiable soul. You know it will be me who considers it is my fault, you spin it as so.
It’s easier to blame me, I am weak, or so you think.
I believe differently, I am fair and loving. Soft in the heart does not make me your punching bag. Yet, I wait for your fist full of words to tell me I am wrong. I am only worth the resentment you have for your unsatisfied ego. I strike back with the little self-worth you have left me. Leaving me with a rotten scathing taste in my mouth, questioning who I am or ever have been.
My fuck-ups becoming your solace, making you feel better about each time your words have eaten me alive. I have made my bed, and you want me to lie in what you believe is its filth. I plead to your heart of how I am human, yet you see me as less, never good enough, not an equal. I believe you.
Don’t you see, I am starting to believe you.
Hateful Words, Break Beautiful Hearts.