🎊 says the word forgive
like it’s a bandage she’s offering to buy me,
like i am the one with the ****** knuckles,
like i am the one who started the fire
instead of the one who stood in the door until my skin blistered.
"she’ll forgive you," they say,
and the word tastes like copper and ash.
Forgive me for what?
for making sure there was a tomorrow for her to be angry in?
for refusing to let her become a memory
just so i could keep being her favorite person?
i am public enemy #1 because i dared to be a witness.
i am the glitch in their perfect, golden saturday.
they want a party where no one mentions the smoke,
where everyone can pretend the "gold" isn't painted over rust.
and because i’m the one who pointed at the cracks,
i’m the one left standing on the sidewalk.
i have become the myth, the shadow in the corner,
the monster parents tell their children about
to make them stay quiet, stay loyal, stay hidden.
"don't be like her," they whisper,
"the one who broke the promise."
"the one who stays alone."
i am the cautionary tale of what happens when you care
more about a pulse than a reputation.
she’s casting me as the villain to keep her audience,
using my silence to build her stage.
she gets to be the survivor and the victim,
while i have to be the monster just to keep her safe.
i don’t have the energy to beg for a seat.
i don’t have the breath to explain that I am the villain
only because i refused to be a mourner.
does that make me a terrible person to you?
well, if being "right" means being lonely,
then let the silence be my proof.
i don't need friends- i have my own company.
they can keep their "forgiveness."
they can keep the snacks and the inside jokes
and the ease of a night where no one has to be brave.
i’ll sit here with the weight of the phone call i made,
with the heavy, iron-rich knowledge
that the only reason they have a guest of honor
is because i was willing to be the ghost.
let them lock the door.
let them leave me out of the photos.
let them toast to a friendship i traded
to keep her heart beating.
i am still painted in the proof that i stepped in,
wearing the bloom of the impact,
because it was always about her.
(it was never about me.)
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 11:01 PM UTC
🎊 says the word forgive
like it’s a bandage she’s offering to buy me,
like i am the one with the ****** knuckles,
like i am the one who started the fire
instead of the one who stood in the door until my skin blistered.
"she’ll forgive you," they say,
and the word tastes like copper and ash.
Forgive me for what?
for making sure there was a tomorrow for her to be angry in?
for refusing to let her become a memory
just so i could keep being her favorite person?
i am public enemy #1 because i dared to be a witness.
i am the glitch in their perfect, golden saturday.
they want a party where no one mentions the smoke,
where everyone can pretend the "gold" isn't painted over rust.
and because i’m the one who pointed at the cracks,
i’m the one left standing on the sidewalk.
i have become the myth, the shadow in the corner,
the monster parents tell their children about
to make them stay quiet, stay loyal, stay hidden.
"don't be like her," they whisper,
"the one who broke the promise."
"the one who stays alone."
i am the cautionary tale of what happens when you care
more about a pulse than a reputation.
she’s casting me as the villain to keep her audience,
using my silence to build her stage.
she gets to be the survivor and the victim,
while i have to be the monster just to keep her safe.
i don’t have the energy to beg for a seat.
i don’t have the breath to explain that I am the villain
only because i refused to be a mourner.
does that make me a terrible person to you?
well, if being "right" means being lonely,
then let the silence be my proof.
i don't need friends- i have my own company.
they can keep their "forgiveness."
they can keep the snacks and the inside jokes
and the ease of a night where no one has to be brave.
i’ll sit here with the weight of the phone call i made,
with the heavy, iron-rich knowledge
that the only reason they have a guest of honor
is because i was willing to be the ghost.
let them lock the door.
let them leave me out of the photos.
let them toast to a friendship i traded
to keep her heart beating.
i am still painted in the proof that i stepped in,
wearing the bloom of the impact,
because it was always about her.
(it was never about me.)
