They didn’t mean it.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
When they used the harsh words,
When they ignored your existence,
I said, they are just stressed,
Why don’t you try seeing the world with their lens.
I had an excuse ready for every bruise, since fifteen,
I am not sure if my pain and the hurt was seen.
I filled in the blanks;
So, they never had to explain themselves.
They didn’t mean it.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
Somewhere in that constant defending,
Constant reframing;
I stopped asking –
“What about me?”
What about how it made me feel?
Why was I so quick to protect their image
And so slow to protect my peace?
They didn’t mean it.
Maybe.
But I did.
I meant it when I stayed.
I meant it when I waited.
And I mean it when I finally stopped.
I hope someday, they say:
They didn’t mean it.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
