The lashing words bite at me.
He throws them with skill,
aiming for the right spots to tare me down.
Why can't he see me for me?
Why doesn't he see what I am, who I am?
He only sees what I could be, how I could be better.
I am someone,
I will amount to something,
I am good enough.
But the words keep coming,
sounding over and over in my head.
The doubts creep in,
scurrying through my brain like diseased rats.
Maybe I should be more,
maybe I should be better,
I'm not good enough.
Would-be arguments clog my throat,
I swallow hard.
Begging the tears not to come,
not to prove him right.
I am not weak.
Never once has he told me that I'm beautiful,
that he's proud of me.
I settle for backhanded compliments and sarcastic remarks.
Sometimes he says he loves me,
but I know they are empty words to him.
Does he put more meaning into the harsh ones?
I sit and listen to the track playing over and over in my brain.
The only thought that pushes through,
I am something, I am.
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