None of It

Some days your memory Hits me, Hits me, Hits me- just the way the shadow of your fist hit the shadow of my face. I am suffocating in existence underneath the constant questions of Why’d you stay with him? Why’d you love him? Why’d you put up with that? Why don’t you love yourself? And the answer is always That it was too damn hard. It’s hard to love yourself when you’re being told that love is a strangle of the throat or a push on the wall Or a “you’re not good enough” Or “it’s today or tomorrow” not, “when you’re ready”- When am I ready? When can I finally move on past this nightmare of nightmares from what started out a dream of fantastical fun from the land of the living?- It was all real. It couldn’t have been real. None of it. Not one hug, not one kiss, Not one “I love you” Not one “I don’t need you” Not one push, not one pull of the strands of my hair Not one “forgive me”. None of it could be real. None of it.