You Want Me Now Though

I remember you asking me why I write so much. I remember you finding my writings about other people. The fact that they weren't about you sent you over the edge. It didn't matter if they were about relatives of mine, ALL of my writings HAD to be about you. It got to the point where you threw my work away. & I watched you. Motionless. Tearless. Numb. Just watched you throw away my creativity. I stopped writing. I believed you. For what? It was a waste of time. Then again, I wasn't hurting anyone. They were just words on paper. Didn't bother anyone. I shared w/you because I thought you cared. When I left home to be w/you, I didn't even take enough belongings for a month. But I took my writing. I had to. It's what I held most sacred. My screenplays. My pain before I knew pain. & I did not have any idea what that action of yours along w/your verbal abuse would do to me in the following years. I see it now when I look back. How weak I was. To let you destroy me like that. I disappeared. From everyone. Because you asked me to. I didn't even notice when they were no longer questions. They were demands. In a sense, I'm still a victim to you. I haven't made it. Nor do I have REAL plans on making it. I'm still taking baby steps. The baby steps I never got to see for myself. I pray you did.

God, I hope you saw them.
Show them to me in my dreams.

"What happens when you don't feel like writing?
"Who will know your joy & pain?" -PRONOUNS