"You"

This poem is about someone from my past, not Claire.  It came to me when I was sitting in a writer's workshop listening to someone else's writing.

"You"

I gave you everything I had to give

and received jabs of unkind words in return.

My heart was out there for you and everyone to see

and you stomped on it, the pieces breaking unevenly as I 

attempted to appease you and keep everything from

falling apart.

I never said those three little words, but you were the

first person I felt them for, and it scared me—

justifiably.

You never lied to me, but omissions of truth are almost worse.

You said it was only a joke, but, to me, it did not seem

funny to make fun of my accent, my mannerisms, my

family, my being.

It’s been years, and some days, though I don’t miss you, and

don’t wonder “what if,” a scent or a song or a snatch of a

memory recalls you to mind

Your lupine teeth, your impossible blue eyes, your flaws I

refused to see because love is truly blind,

are all suddenly there in front of me.

And, thankfully, with a smile, I can turn away from your image

without regret or heart piercing sadness.

Because I am strong, and stronger than you ever imagined I

could be.

So, thank you, because if we were still a we, I wouldn’t be me.