Dear You

Dear You

After all these years it's easier to ignore their words. It seems better to nod, and agree, then go home and play happy family.

And I can pretend that you never swore in our son's face, and didn't begrudge seeing to our baby daughter on her first night at home.

And when you walk into my new house without knocking on the door, lovebites on your neck, I can pretend I don't see.

When you stay overnight with me and don't acknowledge your children the next morning I can pretend I don't notice.

And when we argue, and you demand money from me to buy your kids dinner, I can make excuses. It's you, I don't expect any better.

My son spent an hour crying on the street because he had to visit your house. I can put it to the back of my mind.

But now, sitting here with my family, watching them in tears, I realise the pain I've caused.
Money I accepted, and then spent making you happy.

And my sister says she almost hates me, and I can't blame her. I can't even blame you.

We had that talk. You said you'd never change, you had no need to. I accepted it, grovelled at your feet, said I'd make it all alright.

And when we separated I met a nice guy. You stormed into my house and cut up my underwear, broke my standard lamp, told my son that 'mummy's a slag'.

And then I get a letter, my new man's left. I wonder how responsible you are for that.

And now, the calm before the storm. I have you, I'm realising I don't want you, and I'm scared to get rid of you.

You'll never trust me again, you often remind me, as you drink my tea in my house.

And each night as I go to sleep, alone or with you, I pray for the courage to end this mess, and put our children first.

You have broken me.