Dear You,
As I sit in the deafening silence, I think about You.
You and all the things that go along with You:
Bruises, dark as Your heart.
Screaming, loud as Your lies.
Pain.
“Love.”
You don’t own me.

Our relationship is like I’m gasping for air as water starts to inflate my lungs.
Water swirls around me like a whirlpool,
My legs and arms kick and flail around helplessly underneath me,
My lungs are on fire.
My eyes burn trying to look up to the world above,
To see who’s hand is holding me under the water.

It’s Your’s.

And just as I begin to catch sight of the bright, beautiful light that promises refuge,
You pull me above the water,
Back to Your world.

Everyday I wonder if today is a day you’ll push me under water,
Or one of the few You’ll pull me above.
You say You love me,
But You’re only an actor reading from a clever script.
But I’m an actress too.
You don’t own me.

The bruises are from my clumsiness,
I say.
Just to keep Your persona of perfection.
I wish You were.
You aren’t.
You don’t own me.

Flowers, gifts, sorry,
Don’t make me forgive You,
Love You.
Even if I say they do.
I lie.

you don’t own me.

All my "Love",
Me.