Wronged

Lied to, talked about
Abandoned…

It happens;
You endure or die.

I’m a survivor.
I get past it

Getting over it
Is a different matter.

At night sometimes
Your words return
To haunt me…

Occasionally in dreams,
Mostly in scenes
Enacted on my ceiling.

Abuse is not so much
A memory
As a bruise.

Ill treatment is
One thing—
Lies another.

If you lie to me,
There's nothing in you
I can honour.

Say you’re sorry
And I'll forgive you,
But trust takes time.

Want to make it up?
Enter my suffering.

But it's a fact
Memories are troubling.

So pathetic—
Sometimes I see myself
As Hamlet

Wishing I could thaw
And resolve myself
Into a dew...

But truth is,
Not even the wind can
Bring a tear to my eye
The way you do.