Poetry

Cheyenne

I need to tell you why I am the way I am. I want to tell you in person, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t care. I mean you tell me that you don’t constantly. So I’ll  write this, and maybe you’ll find this, maybe you won’t, but you need to know, I wasn’t always insecure and needy. I used to be confident and free. But then I met him, and he turned my life upside down and inside out. I became insecure because he cheated, and made me think it was my fault. You probably don’t see me shy away from you when you’re mad, but I do, because what if you grab my wrist and squeeze like he did, rubbing the bones together till I cried. You’ve already noticed I apologize, constantly. And I’m sorry. But everything is my fault and I need to apologize. Or that’s what he told me. I’m insecure because I was never enough for him. He always left my bed for another girl. And then lie to me about it. He would manipulate me and others. He got a girl to text me and tell me she lied about them fucking, that it was a prank for his sister.  Cheyenne destroyed me. He lied, and cheated. He never stopped when I begged him to stop because he was hurting me. I bled because of it, and then he would yell at me, pissed off that I was bleeding. That’s why I cry when I see blood on you. I’m waiting for you to be pissed off and yell at me, like he did. And I HATE to paint you with the same brush, but that’s the only brush I have. I need to let it all go, but I can’t. Cheyenne would grab my arm and dig his fingers into my flesh. He constantly accused me of cheating, even though I was at home, working on that stupid quilt. He would tell me how little I mattered to anyone. I was just someone there to annoy people. He told me I wasn’t smart. Or pretty. I’m sorry. I need to tell you this, but I can’t talk about it without crying. He made me hate myself so much, I hurt myself. I had also stopped eating after a while. I went from a size 6 to a size 0, in about a month. But he didn’t even notice. He never really paid attention to me unless I got drunk, was being dramatic, or hurting myself. When I hurt myself, he dug his fingers into my cuts, and tell me I was pathetic. And he’s right. I am. He never said I was dramatic. Guess he didn’t really care. I’m not sure to much what he would say or do when I drank. I can’t really remember. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to know any of this. But I need to tell you. Because I like you, a lot. Kill me now, I don’t want to do this again. But I’m more comfortable with you, than I ever was with him. With you I don’t feel constricted. Yes I get scared when you get angry, and I’m sorry. There’s so many things that are different between you and him, and you’re making me a better person. It’s going to take some time, but I’ll get there. There are things that I will willingly do for you, that I never would do for him. He tore me down, all I ask is for you to build me up.