by Megan Randolph
I was there
When you smashed your wedding pictures in the front yard
When you dropped us off on the corner
When you called my dad’s girlfriend a cunt
When you said you would shoot her
When you dragged me by my arm to the car.
When you pulled my hair,
When you hooked your arm around my neck,
When you called me a slut.
You said, I repeated what my dad told me,
Said I was on “his side,”
I was there when you showed up outside his houses, every time he moved,
At some point you’d be there leaning on your horn.
I was there when you screamed at me outside my best friend’s house,
I looked up and locked eyes with a little boy,
He looked at me with pity
He was watching too,
An encore for you.
I was there when the police came,
when they interviewed me.
Roll out the red carpet,
I had to write a letter saying exactly what happened,
I had to give it to my dad
The only way the courts would let me free of you.
But my dad used it for his own gain,
A fucked up game
To hurt you
I was a pawn
If I wasn’t quiet,
I was too much
If I spoke,
I was quieted
I was a burden
Who didn’t want to party that night
Too much. I was
Shut down I was
Lost. I was
Now, four years later, it is my mess to sort through.
The smoldering ashes of a building
Ignited by you.
I am still dealing with the mess you left,
The mess you both made.
Searching desperately for something I lost,
Trying to understand how to live,
How to not hurt people
and push them away,
The way I have been,
Begging them to stay.
I needed you.
Megan Randolph is nineteen and studying journalism. She values compassion, bravery, honesty, intelligence and a sense of humor. She tries to write with all of those. She began writing poetry as an outlet during high school, and that has developed into a passion for translating experiences into art.