I Had to Kill Him
I had to kill him.
Painfully slow.
Years of abuse lay in my bones,
and he ran free.
I let him almost destroy me.
Almost.
So I killed him.
Aching, tear-streaked, sleepless nights
but he had to go.
Sweetheart, you have to understand:
he was killing me.
The fractures. The starvation.
The stranger in the mirror, haunting,
all because I let him.
His ghost taunts me sometimes,
but he is gone.
Each time I chose me:
the wrinkly pants in the back of the closet,
comfy shoes,
the oversized hat,
bare face,
wild fizzy hair
all acts of rebellion,
all for me.
My truest feminism?
Killing the man inside my head.
Darling, the best thing I have ever done.
So kill him.
And live.
No answers here.
Just breath and ink.
Only always.
With love,
Sutton