Your Own Hand

All these years and still I see,
You don't know a thing about me.
My hopes, my fears, or my dreams,
You don't know a single thing.

At fourteen, a stranger you became,
Thinking only of yourself, only you to blame.
Perfect I am not, though sometimes I tried,
Many, many wasted tears have I cried.

You've said more hateful things than not,
Yet, those words I took without a thought.
No thought of trying to correct you,
No arguing until my face turned blue.

I always took the higher ground,
And by your words I was bound.
Bound to a life of quiet despair,
Which now I can no longer bear.

One last attempt to reach out to you,
Exploded viciously on me, who knew?
Who knew all these years my heart was right,
Though my mind put up a furious fight.

You have confirmed my darkest dread,
Now in my heart, you are dead.
Though my love lives on forever,
This way will be much better.

Your hateful, selfish ways no more,
My heart will mend and not be tore,
In the place you turned black and blue,
Love from friends and family will renew.

The last word I do not have to speak,
It does not make me feel that I am weak.
Weak because I left your words to stand,
Your words that were written by your own hand.