i was an
open book
which she
took as an
excuse to
rewrite the
narrative
to better
fit her view.
in the end
she lost
sight of the
actual truth
while it has
taken over
a year for
the original
text to
resurface.
i gave up
the pieces of
myself she
took umbrage
with to show
my dedication
yet all she
found were
flaws until
all that was
left of who
i was wasn’t
who i wanted
to be at all.
still my heart
aches with
every errant
thought knowing
no matter what
i tried to
give it was
never enough
always doubted
always denied
always willing
to give more
despite being
given less.
i was an
open book
but the subject
didn’t merit
the slightest
of her interest
when she had
so many others
telling her
what she wanted
to hear.