Memories

I sneak into your library at the dead of night,
With a paintbrush, needles and trash bags,
And I go to the portrait you have of me
And add red undertones in my hair,
Lighten my eyes just a bit,
Straighten my nose and
Make sure the cleft in my chin
Is clearly visible even though I hate it,
I just want you to see me as I am.

I want to open the books and tear out pages,
Or add pages in, whatever is needed,
Make sure the motivations,
(both yours and mine)
Are written in red because
You may say reasons don’t matter,
But you know that they do,
It’s why you always ask
“Can you see where I’m coming from?”
As opposed to, “Do you think I was wrong?”
You know those are two different questions,
You just pretend they’re the same,
Because your reasons and motivations
Matter to you, they make you justifiable,
And everyone you disagree with irredeemable.

I don’t care if I’m redeemable, not really,
It doesn’t change anything between you and me,
You could waltz back into my life right now
And it wouldn’t change how I feel about you,
There’s no place for you in my life, in my consciousness,
There used to be, when we were different,
When I thought I needed you and hell, maybe I did,
But there isn’t now, and this isn’t about wanting you back,
Just wanting your memories of me to be accurate,
Instead of whatever story you made up for other people,
Because I was never sure if you also believed yourself
When you warped people’s perception of others,
So it doesn’t matter if your pictures or books
Make me out to be the heroine or villain,
I just want to be represented as the person I am.

Of-course, I guess the problem is that
I would stay in the library forever, if I tried to do that,
Because you can build a place and leave it there forever,
But people are always in motion, the world is always in motion,
And sometimes you just have to let people be wrong,
Knowing that the truth is always more complicated,
And I can’t know what you think, you don’t publicize it like I do.

Although I have a small inkling that you have read it all,
Everything I’ve published about you, because it seems like you,
And maybe you think I’ve gotten it all wrong too,
And people’s perceptions of you, this faceless stranger,
Probably aren’t that fantastic, from my point of view,
That’s the problem with “Do you see where I’m coming from?”
Because yes, people see where I’m coming from too,
Once given the chance, we can all see where someone is coming from,
But if I’m right, you certainly don’t want to talk to me either.

So I guess there has to be a point where we leave things as they are,
Just let you be wrong, simply because you’re allowed to be,
Even though it hurts, because I loved you once, and I want the memories
To be of the person you loved, not the person you decided was worth hating.

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