It was never about me

If I could erase every single memory and wake up with amnesia-
I would.
Take every photo down off of my social media and delete every cute text message;
Erase your entire existence from my life and forget it ever happened,
I’d be better off.
If every word that you’ve ever spoken to me about me was burned into my skin,
I don’t think I’d be that pretty anymore.
People would probably cower at my existence,
Point and stare or maybe even laugh-
Some might even feel sorry for me.
If love was something I had control over perhaps I’d have moved on long ago.
Dusted off the dirt and sewed up the wounds you dug into me repeatedly;
Never even giving them time to heal before sticking the knife in again.
I probably wouldn’t be as broken.
Or perhaps if my guardians had done a better job at raising me I would’ve seen
that every single red flag led the path to a different kind of hell on earth;
And I would’ve dug my heels in and ran in the opposite direction instead of following them like they were small lights made to lead me out of the dark you thought I was in.
So many nights spent crying and wondering how someone who claims to love you could say
and wish such terrible things upon you but;
Once you got me caught up in your anger I started to understand-
It was never love it was hatred.
Hatred for women maybe;
Or just hatred for the kind of woman I’d had to force myself to become
in order to survive in a world that did nothing but neglect and use me from a young age.
Funny thing is you’d always said that you had good intentions;
You were just trying to help.
You just wanted to show me the way;
Be a guiding light.
But why-
Why, knowing the treatment I’ve dealt with:
would you choose,
In a world that’s already filled with such cruelty and hate-
To use hatred and anger over simply being kind to do it?
I know why.
Because it was never actually about me.