Punching Bag

I know you hurt
I see the strain in your eyes
Hear the stress in your voice
See the pain etched in your face.

I know I’m not perfect.
Hotheaded.
My wicked sharp tongue used as a shield
Trust never easily gained.

But I am not.
I can not be.
Your scapegoat.
Your emotional punching bag.

Anger and hurt, pain and fear.
They weigh you down.
Instead of taking my hand and letting me walk with you, support you, share with you.
You push me down.

Your words like fists, you pummel my soul.
Reckless, angry, accusatory.
You become all the things you accuse me of.
Carelessly, you wound me and turn away, relieved of some of your burden.

Once you promised me light, love and happiness.
You begged to have the chance to make my life better.
I gave you the chance and bared my heart and soul to you.
Now I wish I didn’t love you.

When did your love turn so harsh?
When did you stop caring for me?
When did your kindess turn to cruelty?
Why didn’t I see it coming?

Broken promises.
Broken words.
Why do I allow my heart to rise, bloodied and torn.
Every time you promise to call?

Why do I care
When your words are so cold, so cruel?
I know I should walk away from you.
Before the wounds you inflict are terminal.

Yet
I hope.
I ache.
I love.

I will be your fool.
I will be your love.
But
I will not be your punching bag.