It’s not your fault,

even though I say it is.

Even though I connect the way you
measured my meals at the dinner table
to the way I
measure my waistline at the bathroom mirror.

Even though I insist that
the bang! of a pan hitting
the oven door,
and the roar of two voices from downstairs
justifies
the smack of my fist hitting
the living room wall,
and the shriek of my voice from my bedroom.

Even though I suggest that
your insistence on hiding
my body and our family
from others
has led to
my insistence on hiding
my life and my emotions
from you.

Even though I realize now that
I’ve used the ways
you have tried to help me
to explain
the ways that
I have hurt myself
and you.

It’s not your fault,

even though you say it is.

Gina Cusing ’16