Why is it that,

no matter how much I beg for my anger to stay,

it never does?

That no matter how much I try and put all of my energy into reliving every degrading moment, cycling every situation that made me feel worthless, over and over and over again,

the fury always runs out and I’m just left with sorrow.

Why does the hate always wash away? Why does the love stay embedded into me, like the shells buried in the sand from the wake?

Why do you break just enough bones to cripple me,

but always refuse to finish the job?

Why isn’t my heart so worn down by every single time you turned away from me, as I pleaded for the love you promised, that the thought of you sickens me?

Why does my brain try and protect me from everything that’s painful, except for you, who has hurt me the worst?

I want to burn every trace of you in me until the only thing I have left to remind me of us is the taste of ashes in my throat.

I want to hate you.

I hate that I can’t hate you.

You don’t deserve the love I still hold.

Why can’t I see you for who you are, not who I wanted you to be?

I am the last person you would call gullible,

so why can’t I let go of the people that I know, never ever really wanted to be held?

Why can’t I accept that no matter how badly I thought it was my turn,

it just wasn’t?

It just wasn’t love.

I just wasn’t loved.

I guess that’s probably why I can’t let it go.

Because then,

all over again,

like a record that’s stuck in a loop,

I’m 31, hearing the same advice I heard when I was 15,

my reality still unchanged,

I just wasn’t loved.

Why is it that,

no matter how much I beg for people to stay,

they never do?