You did not break me.
My heart may be bruised, and it’s still beating.
Remember the night you used your words like
a sharpshooter uses bullets?
You knew you hit your mark when tears
wet my face, and I begged for you to stay.
You hit your mark when your anger, like a leather whip,
slashed my inner child into a thousand strips.
It is then that I saw you for the first time:
a coward—a wounded little boy who grew up into a man
incapable of love—a narcissist.
I do not wish you ill will, only
that Karma has her way with you;
that one day you’ll taste the salt of
your own abuse.
I look forward now, eyes intent on the
horizon where the dawn and night kiss each morn.
I bury us in the past, where memories go to die.
I let the earth make compost of all we were;
dust to dust and all that.
I release all bitterness.
I release all blame.
I let you go now, for
I did not break.