You deserved my wrath.
But I didn’t give it to you.
Because you took everything else I had
and it’s the only thing left.
So I kept it,
read it the story of you and I
every night before bed
as parents do their children.
Hoping for the best,
fearing the worst.
It’s the only thing I can claim
the only part of me your hands will never touch
I’m staying just out of reach
hiding my anger just out of sight
I have nothing to prove to you
You were wrong about me
I didn’t give up the fight
I didn’t surrender myself to you
My battle has been won
by strategies you never even considered
by means you will scoff at
and my tactics have won me the war
And when the history of you and I has been written
I’m sure we will have different accounts
like all events when friends become enemies;
there are two sides to every story.
I will tell mine, and you will tell yours.
Both may be right.
And I will turn the page to the afterward
where you are burning with regret
and I will have watered my wrath
until it is grown tall and proud
until it blossoms in the sun
as patient indifference at the sound of your name.
Keep everything you took
I don’t want it anymore.