Dear Girl who Broke Me

Dear girl who broke me,

At the beginning of the summer my confidence was an overpowering wave.

But you returned and that wave became water flushing down the toilet. The changes I made to better myself, you took and molded to your liking. I became putty in your hands and you became the voodoo doll on my dresser. I became the person people wanted me to be. But you told me to sit and behave, and like a good dog, I listened. And when I was your good dog, you threw me a bone. How many times would I have to mistake that bone for an olive branch, before I learned that the olive branch was just a whip for your whipping boy? And sadly, I fit perfectly into the role of Jemmy. But no worries, you still one-upped me, you played the part of “Prince Brat” with unmitigated excellence. And I respected your divine position, but you couldn’t even attempt to respect the one magnificent thing I had. You slithered into the hands of my love and watched me slip through his fingers. And you smiled at the fact that you would not face any repercussions, didn’t you? Because I, your whipping boy, would face all of the punishments for your wrongdoings. And I faced every punishment with the mask of a martyr, because my pride would not let you see me cry. But now I am letting you know that you turned a faucet on and forgot to turn it off. You had finally won and losing to you led to loss of love, loss of respect, loss of confidence, and loss of strength. With the loss of love I fell farther than I did when falling in love. You paralyzed my heart, but I can teach it to beat again. Loss of respect lifted weight from my shoulders and bruised them all at the same time. Loss of confidence was like a blow to the head, but it didn’t matter, because confidence was just a fleeting phase. But the loss of strength left scars that will never leave my thighs. I had stitched up my past, but you reopened the wounds. That moment occurred when the faucet let out hot, steamy water that stung like fresh wounds in the shower. So girl, that is the story of how you broke me. However, I am not asking for an apology, because you named me Jemmy and it’s my job to mop up the floor after you left the faucet running.

Yours Truly,

The girl you broke