i have a few confessions for you.
a question of health, an arrangement of motives;
reasons to stay including (but not limited to)
because you need(ed) me, because of a promise we made,
because i don't know what to feel or how to feel
or what i feel or why i feel or what you feel or anything at all.
but oh, those reasons to leave:
sometimes there is nothing here but hurt.
insults against friends, of whom you know nothing,
little, and less can i listen to you.
because i love them, and because they mean something.
and still even i am not free (never free) from your judgement,
even living so close to the source.
and i've mentioned it, mentioned so many things like it,
but the response is always the same: "i can change."
no one ever stops to ask if we can, by sheer will, simply alter,
and i'm losing faith in someone who never had the faith to even lose.
and again, a few days later, another item to add to this list:
you silenced me during the discussion, and the others noticed it too.
the others say i should think carefully, and there are still even more others.
yes, and the others, the others, there are so many others
who need the love more than you do.
such as, in example, for instance.
he's unhappy, like you. however, justified. but it's not his excuse.
i have made so many excuses for you, but none of them fit, and all are so weak.
you tell me you respect me, but where is that respect when you are angry?
you and i and that thursday i still remember well.
you told me you were sorry, but
an apology is an apology is an excuse to make up for one time,
not two, four, eight, whatever the number is now.
you tell me i should stick up for myself, (but... never against you?)
anytime i do, "i act the victim," (according to you) but it's usually true!
i am a victim; yours. but now you are mine.
throughout these years and i still think about it all,
such as, in example, for instance: the debate, the debate, (it still stings.)
you had to think so hard about whether or not this was worth it?
but this was us, this was us, this was something made of love,
this was YOU AND I AND EVERYTHING WE HAD.
you would have traded that all in for more skin?
everything given up just for physical touch, and that THIS was an US.
do you even realize how much we have, and how much i gave to you?
i gave you myself, i gave you two and a half years of ME.
i gave you firsts and lasts and parts of my religion!
days and nights and sleeping, awake, or in pain!
when you were tired, you rested-- and i, and i, and i tried so hard not to complain.
but when i, when i, when i rested? i was to blame.
control and being forgotten and forgiveness twenty times five,
and i, and i, and i wonder about being alive,
and the touch of strange and silver things on life.
only one, and i committed it all to you--
everything, everything (including, but not limited to)