Someone bleached our lawn today.

The dead grass spelled A N O R E X I C

You saw it and you got mad. I'm not sure but I think you were really pissed — I saw you clench your fists.

I don't think it was you who did it.

Or maybe it was.

I'm starting to feel weird these days. Like I've been misunderstanding something. Because I know this isn't you, like the time the water got dumped on me and you looked at me in a way that seemed like you never had anything to do with it, or what happened to my locker, or the egg yolks on my windows, or my assignments getting ripped.

Despite all the words you say that hurt, and the times you angrily drag me off to check the bruises my mother kept leaving, I feel like there's something off frame.

Is it really you who do and initiate these things? Or do I just assume you were the one behind them because you have been the only person to be honest and tell me you hated me while everyone else stood behind you to stab me in the back?

Are you really just a pawn in order for others to watch me suffer?

I don't know anymore.