i still love you, even if it hurts 

and i know you love me too

it’s the truth and yet,

it’s also what i tell myself 

to spare my heart the gritty feeling of

you are nothing and how could someone ever 

love someone as imperfect as i

i still love you, even if it hurts

to know that you do more for him than me

to know that i am not enough

i’ve spent years wondering what’s wrong

i must be the problem 

because surely you would love me more 

if i was whole and as pristine as i fantasize to be

what if i were smarter?

what if i were funnier?

thinner? girlier? an actual boy? less of that dreadful silence

that everyone translates to “what’s wrong with you?”

but truly, and i say this with no disrespect,

but i sincerely want to know why you’re talking to me

because i’m just fine on my own

i’m fine as the spectator

maybe then they won’t focus on my flaws

i still love you, even if it hurts

that when i really needed your help

you told me you had to take care of yourself

you taught me an important lesson though

and it’s something my grandma always believed in

never put yourself in the position where you have to rely on a man

all they do is hurt

intimidate, hurt, repeat

lower your expectations

there’s no disappointment there

i still love you, even if it hurts that the family is convinced i’m spoiled

and you give me everything i could ever want

because of the narrative i’m sure you’ve fed them

and i’m left to feel guilty that i don’t come around

again, by you,

that i don’t know them because 

and somehow it’s my fault

that i was never introduced to these strangers you call kin

and i do not put myself on the line

i do not wear my insides out for all to see and devour

…no, i did that once and i left raw, angry, and sad

i still love you, even if it hurts

that every time i argue with her

she is stuck on “you don’t talk to him like this”

and i can’t express to either of you how unfair it is 

to place me in that predicament

of having to vouch and fight for myself

of having to defend that of course i don’t…you will always be there

…he won’t

it opens too many wounds

of those, i’m not sure she will ever fully understand

i’m not sure if i do myself

i still love you, even if it hurts

that there is less cheer in your voice when you call me now

that family seems to care less that i’m there, 

set on jabbing each thread of me with thinly veiled remarks

that i’m not sure if i’ll ever recover from your disregard of my feelings

that i don’t believe i’ll ever find someone because it’s really hard to trust men

and i’m so thoroughly intimidated i switch lanes in the grocery if the cashier is male

so thoroughly unsure of my own existence that i subtly shrink myself in the presence of the men of my family and hope i’m unnoticed

don’t peer too closely —i’m liable to break and run, hide within myself until they're gone

i still love you, even if i pretend i don’t

even if i pretend i won’t miss you when you’re gone

there are happy moments there, though

singing with you is my favorite

so i make sure to keep every voice note 

so on the days when it hurts a little less

and i want to love you even more

but i can’t pick up the phone at all

i can still hear the sound of your voice