I hate every single one of them. They’re crude and infantile, most of them completely unfinished. Which really isn’t surprising, since you never follow through with anything.
You have a tramp stamp, for the love of Pete. Some of them are from your time in prison… why you’d want memories of that is beyond me. They mean nothing. To you, or to anyone who sees them. They’re a compilation of your bad decisions.
They’re your past. And, until now, I’ve never said one bad thing about them. I accepted that they were part of what made you who you are. Fuck… now it all makes so much sense.
But you. You tore my past apart. Demanded answers you had no right to. Painted me in the worst light. Believed that I was the one who made all the wrong decisions. Degraded every single part of me until I felt like I was less than nothing.
I was the tainted one. Disgusting to you. Unworthy and violated.
You never knew the reasons for my actions because you never bothered to ask. You just judged me for them with no backstory or explanation. You didn’t care to even hear when I cried in regret. You didn’t consider my motives, my nature, or that I genuinely had feelings for anyone else in my life.
No.
My past was my sin, unacceptable.
Your past was excusable. To you. I don’t even think you ever felt fault in anything you did. Your path was beyond reproach because you decided it was.
And that’s all that ever mattered to you.
Fuck me for having experiences before I ever knew you existed. For having lessons that taught me not to repeat them. For gaining knowledge that would force me to learn to make better choices for my future. For surviving everything that tried to crush me, and coming out the other side stronger. For having a fucking LIFE before you.
So I could be this woman.
The one you said you loved.
The one you decimated into a pile of ashes before you finally set me free.
Leave a Reply