My Part

You hurt me.
You didn’t hit me,
cause pain, break the skin,
loosen a tooth.
You scared me
when you pinned me
against the wall…
more than 35 years ago
and I still hold a grudge,
think less of you for it,
sometimes talk about it
but not to you, of course.
But more than that
over years you ridiculed me,
humiliated me, belittled me.
A black eye would hurt less,
would end.
I know what you did.
The resentment thrives.
But this Fourth Step thing…
“What was my part?”
I informed you once I’d been told
I was passive aggressive.
So you threw that in my face
for years. But it’s true.
Burning food you wanted,
forgetting to do what you asked,
telling others my side,
making them hate you...
and without knowing why
you felt like you did,
the context, the level.
What is my part?
I stay in my head.
I don’t know your thoughts,
your feelings, your frustration,
and assume you would not tell me
but don’t ask. And I react,
make you more miserable,
more alone, more needy
and I believe it’s all your fault.
But if I softly turn away your wrath
it doesn’t grow and I’m not hurt
and you’re not hurt.
I will learn my part, act to end
my hurt.
And yours if you allow it.