I remember the pain—
knowing that you spoke lies,
controlled me with fear,
told others of your sins
while painting me as the villain.

You broke me
over and over and over.
I flinch at hugs.
I cry with loss—
loss of my heart.

You broke me.
I am barely a person,
shaped by the pain you caused.
I nearly took that final step

because you needed control,
needed to lash out, to hurt me.
You told others it was me—
that I caused the pain you inflicted.

You paint yourself as a victim.
I barely survived.
You continue your actions,
wallowing in false sympathy.

I bare my pain
through my poems.