A poem for you

You don’t see me.

You see the ghosts behind me.

I’m the placeholder,

the scapegoat,

the voodoo doll

for what they did to you.

You don’t hear me

you hear echoes.

You react to phantoms,

swing your hurt at air

but it lands on me.

You don’t see

the man who stayed

even while unraveling.

The man who held you

as he lost pieces of himself

trying not to trigger your past.

You don’t see

the panic attacks,

the quiet sobbing,

the numbness from giving

more than I had

And the loud frustrated outbursts

You don’t see the double standards,

the rules shifting

with every flare of your pain.

You don’t see my silence

wasn’t peace

it was survival.

I loved you enough to fight for you.

But not enough to set you free.

I was selfish.

I saw how triggered you were

when I brought him up.

I saw how it wrecked you.

How you stitched fiction into memory

just to make sense of the fear.

I saw the accusations.

The hypervigilance.

The lack of rest in your spirit.

I saw you

and thought my love

could be the antidote.

I thought

if I held tighter,

you’d stop pulling away.

If I gave more,

you’d finally see me.

If I kept pouring,

you’d fill me back.

I was wrong.

I was selfish

not because I didn’t care,

but because I thought

my caring would be enough.

I should’ve let you go.

I should’ve said

You’re beautiful,

but you need space to mend.

I can’t be the salve

for wounds I didn’t make.

I’m sorry

for trying to love away your pain.

I’m sorry

for becoming someone bitter

while waiting to be seen.

I didn’t see you as you were.

I saw you through a dream

instead of sunlight.

I saw what I hoped you’d become.

I’m sorry

I didn’t have the heart

to walk away sooner,

with love still intact.

I’m even more sorry

I didn’t have the self-love

to leave sooner.

I hope you heal.

I really, deeply do.