The Victim

I cry
Every night.
I’m not pretty,
I’m not smart,
I’m not good
Enough.
What am I supposed to do?

I do
The only thing I know.
I tell her she’s not pretty,
I tell her she’s not smart,
I tell her she’s not good
Enough.
Is it supposed to make me feel better?

We cry
Together and yet alone.
She is the victim,
I am the victim.