Hindsight

I will never understand
how I am not who you thought I was
when I stepped up to home plate
nervous and shaking in my boots to spill my whole story
in one breath that strained, and shook,
but it only grew stronger as I spoke,
until you stopped me to say that you did not care,
that you wanted me the way I was that day at that moment.

Silly me for thinking you meant the vulnerable side that I had just shown you,
when you really meant you wanted this idealized version of the beaten dog
who has been loved whole once more,
but you never realized I was not whole,
you did not want to,
and for that I am sorry.

Not sorry for you, but sorry for my friends,
and for myself,
for the pain I allowed myself to feel,
for the hours they wasted trying to calm me,
because I let myself place my trust in you.

But you told me you wanted who I am,
and I was confused when you left so suddenly,
but they say hindsight is 20/20 and damned I am,
they were right.

I am who I said I was,
it’s not my fault you saw only what you wanted to see,
and it’s not my fault you ran
when the pieces—my pieces—
fell into place and you saw the whole picture.

I am who I am,
I told you who I am,
so why did you expect me to be a whole other person,
why did you not think it through,
and why did you leave, blaming me, making me feel lesser than I am,
because I am more than you thought?

Save your breath on nonsense answers,
I do not want them,
I just want you to promise that you will listen to the next girl,
and not leave her so high and dry,
because she may not be able to handle it.