I'm strong without you. And it hurts that you're upset about it. You're supposed to be rooting for me. And I guess in a way you are. The way you dig deep and pull out the foundation of my trust must have been something your gardening mother taught you.

Acceptance wasn't rightfully given to you so the idea of me having it is blasphemous.

Just like shacking up.

Let's turn back the clock.

You and my father played house for so long even the state recognized it. It may not have been the traditional, by the letter of the Bible way but that was the last time I dealt with some sense of normalcy.

Why the hypocrisy?

Is it because being with the wrong man left you spitting misdirected venom at the little girl who looked like him? Maybe that's why you can't seem to understand the idea of a man actually loving me beyond my cookie. Maybe that's why you had to drink the way you breathe the night you met my intended.

Greedily without caring about the level of comfortability I may need, you were wrong.

You've been so wrong.

So wrong that you trigger me.

You make it harder to push myself.

You have been my travel sized quicksand, dragging me down with each passing year.

Nothing about you says strong.

I clearly didn't get it from you.