I’m still angry, but it’s a dulling pain.

Disappointment is an old friend 

that you’ve brought time and time again. 

It’s always so surprising to see you

Only because I’m never ready to be filled with the white hot fury of hate or the blurring sight of hurt.

You thought I was perfect.

No one’s ever perfect, and you couldn’t accept that for what it was

The worst part is, that I’ll never be perfect in your eyes again.

And even worse than that is you use it to play with my pride, my worth. 

At the end of a string you hold me, pulling me closer when you want,

throwing me back when you’re done.

But always attached to you at the wrist like the abused dog I was to you.

I’ve cut that string, at least I felt I have, or if anything have lengthened it. 

That blinding pain still comes back though, everytime you open your damn mouth.

I hate you, but I want it to be okay again. Still, I don’t know how to forgive you when I still think you feel that I am worth less than the dirt under your shoe.