how dare you try to distort my words. demand I understand you, be considerate of your soft feelings when I write.
I’ve been around people who use their feelings towards me to hold power over my conscience and self for too long. that because they’re so selfless and so giving towards me, they have to right to claim passes on abuse. that the ugliest of arguments and the ugliest of words are okay because they love me at the end of the day. because they’ve done so much, because even though I’ve done a bit for them, they’ve always done more.
tell me how it’s selflessness and unconditional care when the terms and conditions were signed for me to be indebted and grateful from the start? that I signed myself into sad compliance? sign off rights over my flesh and blood?
the night, the moment, the second when you decided to lay your hands on my body without my consent was the very instant you lost that right for me to be so careful.
I’ll wish you happiness but I won’t let you forget anymore, won’t let me be the only one to carry this red, red baggage.
I have the right to write to cope, always have. write for myself to live–it was never for you. and you just as well have the right to an attorney in this sad crime of heartache and sharp words, handprints over skin.
a court that will never be called to session.
I’ll never let you talk me into believing this is all my fault again, never let me falter in my words again, never let you touch me again.