Your words were knives,
You threw each one with precision.
A master.
Each hit harder than the last,
Each exactly where it hurt.

“You are ugly.”
You yelled from the ladder.
“You are fat.”
You whispered as we dipped our paintbrushes in the bucket.
You waited,
Pride in your eyes,
For me to run off and lick my wounds.

I wonder how I looked to the observers.
My eyes misty,
My face covered in paint.
Could they see the damage you were doing?
I don’t think you can see,
A broken heart?

Yet, I am sure they saw my pain.
Those I called friends.
Those that laughed at your words.
As you mocked me, saying,
“Lighten up, Darling.”
How do I lighten up?
How do I not feel the pain?
They say that words cannot hurt.
But in that moment.
Your words cut deeper than any,
Twigs or pebbles ever could.