Hate Poem for my Stepfather

I'm tethered to my darkness

and I don't know which parts of it belong to me

and how much of you is still in me.

I never wanted you in my life, no less inside of me, but you came (in me) anyway

and you broke down doors and crushed all my hopes and dreams, annihilated all that I was supposed to be. Created this ravished ghost inside, an eternal reminder of what you did to me. (Was it me?) A ghost that is me. A ghost that haunts me even while awake. 

Sometimes it feels like all of my early life led up to you, preparing the perfect victim for your sick and twisted mind.

Like I was wearing a target mark instead of clothes size 7.
As if a Mulan themed nightgown was some sort of lingerie.

How far can you count at 8 or 9 years old? I can't remember. All you left is a big black hole in my biography, each memory of you hurts more than all the blades I used to slash my skin. Remembering is me walking over shards of glass.

I want you dead. I want to read your obituary in the newspaper and piss on your grave. I hate you. But I feel like parts of you will forever be on the inside of my ribcage where you forced yourself in and emptied me out. You made me believe I was a something rather than a someone. [...] You killed the me I was supposed to be. Your marks will forever be etched into my skin. You ripped out my heart all those years ago and I don't know what it is that's been pumping blood through my veins ever since. 

If you get lung cancer think of me. I want to be the poison in your blood, I want to suffocate you slowly, I want to watch you rot and cause you so much pain.

This is my hate and I love it. 

Hating you means putting the blame where it belongs.

Hating you means I get to realize that I did nothing wrong.   You did.