I could hate you with a thousand fiery deaths, but the fact is that even though you wronged me, I have become stronger, not by myself, but with your help.

Your wronging made me realize my life in a new view, I can now see my true beauty, I never noticed it earlier, but I do now.

No, I can never forgive you for what you did, but I can thank you for opening my eyes to reality I was breaking from, you probably rot in prison now, but that serves you right for what you do to people.

All you know how to do is hurt people with your words, Words…curses…charms…are your gifts, the old saying goes sticks and stones, or even what does not kill you, though I know these well and basically by heart, I could not see with intensity almost too sharp that I am wrong, I still feel guilt, pain, and even more often rage against you, but what I do not usually think is: yes you played a role in helping me.

I was a wilting rose about dead, you gave me water, the attention I craved so much, though I craved  attention you still were wrong, I sought a friend not a lover, now you rot where you sleep, I do not tire weeping from your crime, but I do tire of explaining myself to you and others.

I am a rose full of life, this rose holds shadows as well as highlights, but this rose will keep her secrets, even if she has to cry acid tears upon his grave, this rose is no longer lonely anymore, for instead of one, the ones who cared about her most, has realized they love her too.

2011 Unpublished work. © by Rebbecca Abernathy