Bless Your Heart, Love T

"When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?"

You spoke of mistakes, things to fix, things to grow from,

Drew the white lines on the dark chalkboard, the boundaries to stop my imagination.

You wrote the words sharp enough to draw blood, and they were hurled at my mind.

I sat politely, only speaking when spoken to, being your perfect little student, and you turned around and screamed those insults right at my face.

You told me you would be my friend, but you allowed him to say those things about me and my family

The image of your solemn face staring back at me as you whispered about how childish and immature I was being

I sat there, tears in my eyes as you crossed your arms.

"He called me names," I cried, I pleaded, I begged you to understand me, but you just shook your head and called me insecure.

I never wanted to hurt you.

You explained what I should've done differently, those many times, in our lessons

And then you targeted her, and you called me weak.

I couldn't handle it. 

Working so hard for a friendship, oh, I cared. Wishing and praying for your well-being, was that never enough?

I was no longer weak or sad or pained when you told me that you wished she wasn't a distraction.  

You only want attention, and she never begged for it like you do. 

So bless your heart, Abby, bless your heart. 

But don't you DARE bring her into this again