Your memory haunts me
like a ghost of winter
in the beginning of spring.
there is still a bit of cold
grasping at your throat.

The words you use
to speak to me
echo in my mind
and I have to remind
 myself that it is
over now.

That you are something
of my past
something I did not
want to remember
but every year,
like spring,
I do remember.

I remember that
you were not the person
I thought you were.
That I have to constantly
remind myself that
I am good.

That I am good enough
for someone
not just a piece
of dirt on the ground.
Not your punching bag.
but sometimes,
I can't forget.

I can't forget that
helpless feeling of
not good enough
and I can't forget
your smirk when you
thought you won.
like spring.

But summer will come.