We have all been hurt and we can decide, 

whether to pass the hurt along or put an end to it. 

The harder of the two paths requires self love, first and foremost. 

Why is it so hard to love ourselves?  

You hit me, left bruises and scratches, deep and raw- 

I wait until she is in the shower,

and strike her with a wire hanger, 

punch her in the face, 

harder than I was ever hit.

I cut myself each day, 

watch the blood trickle down, 

slower than tears.

You insulted me more times than I can count-

I curse her name, 

remind her daily she is nothing.

The mirror whispers back, 

I hate you. You’ll never be enough.

You humiliated me every time we went out-

I yell at the waiter, 

put him in his place,

make sure he knows who’s paying his rent.

I am the punchline of my jokes,

offering up my dignity, 

for attention, for a laugh.

You take from me and rarely give back-

Listen. Just listen to me. I don’t allow a word in,

won’t even ask how you’ve been. 

I take it all; your money, your time, your kindness, 

your space. 

Until there is nothing left of you.

You give and give, 

until one day, you wake up empty. 

One minute you are the savior, 

the next you have nothing left to give. And they all disappear. 

I know of two types of hurt. 

Those who hurt others,

and those who say, no more. 

I cheer for the latter. 

The ones who fight to end the abusive cycle, 

those learning that healing begins in the moments of self-compassion. 

Those who, against all odds, 

become the hand that lifts, 

the leaning shoulder, 

the listening ear,

the quiet smile, 

I cheer for ones who emerge from darkness 

and rise as the light. 

(I dedicate this to my friend. I love you.)