**[HEAVY TOPICS! **⚠️** TW - reflection on verbal abuse, READ WITH CAUTION. The whole story is fictitious but there because I feel people need to be aware of this. Also, the italicized represents texts that the voice of this poem is obsessed with reading, therefore making this on-prompt.]**__

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_Why aren’t you answering my texts? Don’t you love me anymore?_

I have to be honest: I’m afraid not to love you anymore,

because of everytime you’ve stomped out of that door.

You had control over me, and you knew it dang well,

I tried to be the kind of girl that could get a demon out of hell.

I tried beyond my abilities to keep you by my side,

but I’d look over my shoulder at everything you tried to hide.

Your eyes were always skirting around, as if you weren’t supposed to be there,

and your smile was never warm, as if you never truly cared.

_Why don’t you love me anymore?_

I could tell that you liked to compliment with a strong back hand,

because every time you said something nice, it made me feel nauseous and bland.

I stayed by your side because I wasn’t used to being alone,

I was scared of how they’d judge me if I were the only one frozen like stone.

Your arms snaked around me like a museum’s glass case,

I told you it wasn’t comfortable, that I didn’t feel quite safe.

Then you gave me that back hand, and I mistook it for assurance,

just like I did when you took the breath out of my lungs and called it endurance.

_Why don’t I love him anymore?_

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You never did seem to realize that I was broken and cracked all over,

I remember very little, even though out of the two of us, I was the only one ever sober.

You knew I was used to having to act strong and quite tough,

You knew that I waited, just to end it because I have cried enough.

I cried way too much for us to continue on anymore.

Next time, remind me to be the first to stomp out that door.