In the quiet room where hope should bloom,
We sit with hearts weighed down by gloom.
The marriage counselor’s gentle tone,
A beacon in the storm we’ve known.

But you, my spouse, with hardened eyes,
Refuse to change, to compromise.
Expecting me to bear the load,
While you walk a different road.

Behind closed doors, you weave your tales,
In whispered words, my strength derails.
To friends and family, you confide,
A victim’s mask you wear with pride.

They see your tears, your feigned despair,
While my own struggles fill the air.
You paint a picture, dark and grim,
A portrait where I’m cast as sin.

And in the shadows, doubt takes root,
Your secret deeds bear poisoned fruit.
In silence, I begin to break,
A fragile heart that’s left to ache.

Yet here I stand, with weary soul,
In this charade, I’ve played my role.
But know this truth, though hard to see,
The strength you mock, still lives in me.

For in the end, the light will shine,
Exposing lies, revealing mine.
And though you try to tear me down,
I’ll rise above, reclaim my crown.

So let the counselor’s wisdom flow,
And may the seeds of courage grow.
For though you seek to see me fall,
In love and truth, I’ll stand tall.