As far as protection goes you never offered any. I came to you for shade, you burnt me like the Sahara. When you’re an inch tall you can’t help but look up. I couldn’t help but look up. Tower is all you ever seemed to do. I knew who was the boss and I always knew what the boss was capable of.
You taught me to be silent with my defiance. Taught me how trust is a weakness. I still catch myself believing the crap you taught me as a child. Helicopters are watching me. Cups produce marbles once left alone. Our love was strange. I just figured that men were big and tall. That when you’re ‘theirs’, their anything, they’ll save you from the world but they can have you as they please.
You were growing into manhood. It was so obvious. Big bulging muscles and the desire to hate. The desire to love. I was slowly making my way into womanhood. Sometimes I think that what hurt the most was your promise of protection. The way you told me you’d keep me safe. You’d watch out. I always felt so fucking safe with you, only two dozen steps away. You never pulled through. You barely tried. I was silent but deadly. I still longed for your interest, in anything. in any way. I thought.
”There are worse things you can do to the people you love than kill them”.
I caught you taking notice. I caught you smiling that proud smile. When you asked to borrow my CD booklet I thought for sure you just wanted to know the lyrics too. For a moment in time I though Mariah Carey was the shit. From the moment I watched your gaze I knew your mind was elsewhere. This was the beginning. You were growing into manhood. It was so obvious.
The young brain has no clue where this is going. You taught me that trust was a weakness. You never taught me how to make a man happy, as you claimed.
Here is what you taught me:
You taught me how to hate myself. You taught me how to hide in corners. Taught me how to feel uncomfortable in the presence of anyone. You taught me to blame myself.
Taught me to bite my tongue.
Taught me to live with lonely.
How to hate touch.
To despise men.
To fill the silence.
How to use my knees.
Not to cry,
not to care.
To pretend that the bad moments are just dreams. The reoccurring kind.
Those months, they really should have been a dream.