... because the goal was always about making you feel petty and small

   
Why do I torture myself?      
whispers my inner ask    
     
Strength      
independence      
a small bit of allure      
cleverness      
intelligence      
all. meaningless.    
     
Not even      
attuned wit      
was enough      
to stop me      
from having your words      
gouge doubt directly      
into my psyche      
     
I blindingly allowed fresh air to curdle      
with sugar coated poison      
     
And oh how I despise myself      
for being so easily fooled      
{for being a fool}      
by acutely disguised      
condescension    
infuriatingly      
mansplained away      
with ease      
and polished      
savoir faire    
     
I still barely believe      
the astonishing attempt      
aimed at dictating "direction"    
towards any      
remarkably relevant    
minute part      
of my hard admitted thoughtfulness      
     
You don't get to determine my worth    
     
Or pretend      
you even remotely      
understand.      
     
Not after      
using feigned concern    
cloaked e-diatribes    
that served as nothing more than      
manipulative word salads      
meant to harm,    
question      
hurt where it hurts most    
all while expertly twisting      
things into being my fault    
with passive aggressive      
guilt and belittling      
wordplay      
     
You initited      
reaching out      
'so selflessly'      
offering yourself up-    
cooing assurances    
'those soothing kindnesses'      
wrapped up in    
a tantalizing erudite nonchalance      
     
The kind      
'we mere women'    
even clever ones      
swoon over      
and love to instinctively covet,      
so much so      
that any inkling(s) otherwise      
were hidden deep  
and ignored without ado  
     
A warning sign    
my life experience    
should have simply recognized    
and sounded an alarm to      
at the very first mention      
of him not ever being      
'the bad guy'    
.      
.      
.      
.      
Evolving—    
becoming a better version of myself    
seems pointlessly futile      
     
When I couldn't even      
see the forest      
for the trees      
     
of knowing better.      
     
......