Your Past

This poem was written in the middle of my decision to file for divorce. I was probably 7months pregnant of our rainbow baby and I just couldn’t keep fighting for something that may have never been there in the first place. From control to abuse, the tears I shed writing this poem could never be erased from my memories

---

Men are logical and women are emotional—

but does that mean you should dismiss how I feel?

Does that mean your “logic” makes you right,

and everything I say should be taken at face value?

My feelings may not be facts,

but they come from thoughts.

And if I feel the same pain

day in and day out,

no matter my mood—

maybe it’s real.

You helped me through life, yes,

but isn’t that what a partner should do?

Then why is it thrown in my face

every time I needed something for myself—

when I needed to speak my truth,

when I had to silence my own needs,

when I had to forget myself to please you?

Yet in the end, I became

the most ungrateful person you ever met,

the most fake, two-faced, hurtful woman—

to the point where the death of your mother

meant less to you than the pain you said I caused.

I could apologize,

try to do better every day,

and you still wouldn’t see it.

You wouldn’t see my effort,

wouldn’t see my change,

wouldn’t see that I wasn’t the same person anymore.

You wanted things fixed overnight.

You wanted change

without creating a place

where I could feel safe enough to grow.

But I had to keep reshaping myself

to fit the mold you made of me.

What am I fighting for?

To become the villain you keep blaming?

To sit quietly and absorb

the rage you carry for the world

and for yourself?

I can’t keep doing that.

I can’t keep taking blame

for things I never did—

for ghosts that live only in your mind,

for the past you insist on placing on me.