A picture for your lover

"I'm drawing you a picture," he told me.
I thought it might be a peace offering.
He was no artist. He refused to try to be.
"When can I see it, baby?"
"I don't know. I don't know if I want you to."
But of course he wanted me to.
He wanted me to want to.
And I did.
But it wasn't exactly a picture.
It was really more of a chart, he said. A chart of his mind.
He drew it out with bubbles, arrows, lines.
And I was at the center.
And at the edges were terrible things.
It was labelled "A small portion of negative thoughts related to you;
Or, why I don't have a chemical imbalance."
But it wasn't exactly a chart.
It was really more of an excuse. An excuse for his mood swings.
A justification for grabbing me.
(You needed to get a grip on yourself.)
A justification for not caring when it hurts.
(You've hurt yourself before, so why can't I?)
A justification for putting his hands over my mouth.
(You've used that mouth for things I don't want to think about.)
A justification for pushing me onto his bed.
(You've been in enough beds, it shouldn't be new to you.)
A justification for the line, "I'll let you up when you shut up."
(Your crying too loud. Do you want everyone to hear you?)

A justification for treating me like a whore. 

(You've allowed strangers to see your tits.)

A justification for his sporadic snapping. 

(Your tattoos are a visible reminder that I'm not the only one who's seen them.)

A justification for his lack of affection.

(You make it so hard to love you.)

A justification for his absence of remorse.

(Your past is not my fault.)

Using myself against me, using me as an excuse.
All I can do is try to commit it to memory
Before he tears it up so no one else can see it,
So no one else will believe that it ever existed.
So that he can convince me that it never existed.