It Was Me

All the time I've been pointing.

It’s been me all the long.

Pointing at you because you took my freedom.

It was me that let you have it.

Pointing at you because you hurt my feelings.

It was me that trusted the untrustworthy.

I pointed at you for taking advantage.

It was me who granted you access.

My index finger is firmly outstretched because you hit me, “Bitch... You hit, me?"

It was me... That stayed around trying to find out why.

One day I looked at myself in the mirror...

I know God made them things for a reason, but anyways...

I looked at my cut lip and watched the hot tears roll down my face.

In order to realize it was me, I had to look deep into those slanted brown eyes.

Those same slanted brown eyes I’ve been looking into since I stood three feet from the floor.

It is me, in here.

I am the driver.

I say where this vehicle, this body goes and what it accepts.

It is me that no longer chooses you and your defeat, contempt, jealousy, possessiveness and resentment, wrapped in the prettiest box that you call love.

I choose me.

I choose me finally.

It was me.

It is and always will be.