I wish you had hurt me more.
Or, in a more obvious way.
I wish you had called me names.
Bitch, whore, selfish, unforgiving.
Instead you used babe and baby to strangle me with.
I wish you had gotten angry at me.
like foaming mouth angry,
like clenched fists and strained temples angry,
but you bottled it up and fed it to me through a straw,
choking me with your passivity.
I wish you cut into my flesh rather than my heart,
because fixing broken skin is intuitive,
but humans chase a lifetime soothing heartbreak.
Not a scar or bruise left,
except for a gaping hole of tacit wrongdoings.