tw: gender dysphoria
What am I doing wrong? Her visits are rare and cruel. She uses a knife and digs it into the wounds she helped create. She says my name in a grave, knowing that I mourn its loss. But can I criticize? I’ll just be pushing her away. I miss her. But it’s never like it used to be. Well it is in a way. But worse. She points out all of the things I hate about myself. My smile. My hips. My face. She knows just what to say to dig out the grave of who I used to be. Why won’t she let it die? I know you’re mourning, but I am too. You left. And I changed. But you stayed the same. And now you force me back into the ground so we’re here together. Stuck with a case of mutually assured destruction.