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I’M NOT HER
At tines I want to scream it from the mountaintops.
Words that have gone through my mind when people talk to me about my ex lovers.
Words that a heart like mine has had ingrained in my head.
Words mere mortals could never recollect but other writers, artists do.
We know the feeling, the power of words.
Words that are like knives and cut you to the bone, but leave you longing for not the pain but the touch.
I have survived many an abusive person with my fear being, will I ever become them
Will I take from others only to become the attacker and not the attackee?
I’m not her.
I have done my wrongs in the past. We all have, but if this is karma kicking me back it’s one thing,
However life. My life is no one’s but mine and I refuse to be the one who has to be stressed 24/7.
True, I hate my job. I hate having to be who I am. I even hate being the type of person who can’t have her life back. Let me say it again. Have my life back.
I’m not her.
If I could recycle the last 4 years and could just look at the moments when I chose to be with this person or that person I swear I would not do it again. I would stay home with my vibrators and play pool with my friends, sing karaoke on the weekends and just be who I am. Yet I am not me, but…
I’m not her.
The snarling wolf not the kind one, who looks at me like prey on a 10 day hunger.
Wanting all of me, even my mind. Calling me at work, saying things about me at my care center,
Leading others to believe that I am like her, but I refuse to be. I would rather take a gun to my head and die than to be like that.
I’m not her.
I am the type of person who has requested to have her ashes spread over native American ground my family is from, but in a whim may request it to be spread over the closest KKK burial site.
I am a dancer, lover, mother, and friend full of faith without having faith. It got lost the last time I was hit.
The emotional take down of an unstable mind.
I’m not her.
Hi jacked within the plane of my own existence, living in fear, paranoia, nightmares, flashbacks only adding to my already PTSD anxiety riddled life. I will not be owned. I am a slave to no one, but myself, and only I can request my freedom.
I’m not her.
The words of I would’ve apologized if, and then when they had it before them no apologies were given. No things were truly said; just get out this isn’t working. It doesn’t matter that you love me and you showed me that through checks and cash given on a monthly basis even going as far as paying your way to ritual that summer. I want my life back, because…
I’m not her.
Stop the comparison, the bitching, whining and lies. Your life is not fucked up because of me and by the way what about all the monies I spent on the time when you said we were out of food and I handled it.
What about the times when you had to go out of town and left me to fend for myself yet did you notice all the bills got paid and there was food on the table when you got home? No thanks to you, but it’s okay.
My friends say it and in my heart I know I did everything I said I would do plus some.
I’m not her.
People used to tell me that men were bad and from my experiences in life I can tell you that I oftentimes felt that way but if you would’ve told me that certain women are just as much piranhas as certain men. Looking for the next victim, the next caregiver, the next person who’s heart is as big as Texas to use and abuse I would not have believed it one bit.
I’m not her.
My words, my life, my freedoms fought for, demanded and bought with not just others but my own blood, sweat and tears. You did not deserve me. Not the real me, not the sacrifices I made to make everything okay for you. I just needed to get it out and say it one last time so people truly know.
I’m not her.
