There’s this scene that keeps replaying in my head,
over and over again.
And every time it hurts,
but it just keeps playing.
It was a day I thought was good looking back on it with my rosy glasses.
In the moment it felt wrong, but I blamed it on anxiousness.
Looking at it now with my jade contacts it was horrific; it was wrong.
I hate that you did it.
I hate that I did nothing.
I hate that I let it happen.
I hate that I look at myself and only see what you did.
I hate that I let you get away with your filthy, selfish deeds.
I hate that I blame myself for your disgusting crimes.
I hate that you probably don’t feel a single ounce out of the tons of guilt, shame, and disgust I feel
when you’re the one who committed the heinous acts.