Good Intentions

Why should I still cower

when you rage?

Why should I escape

to this mental cage

and be afraid?

Why should I feel shame

when your teeth grind?

Why should I feel tamed

and leave my fierceness behind?

Why should I pretend that you protected

me from the collective

hurl of deprecation

through your words,

or the implications

of insults unfurled?

Slander me.

Tear me apart

from limb to limb.

Question my heart;

expose my sins.

I never claimed perfection;

I know I’m hopelessly flawed.

I’ll never rise to your expectations;

my faults are much too raw.

But I take responsibility

for what I do,

and hope for the possibility

that you will too.

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