I’ve always despised
people who use others—
then discard.
Well… not in that order.

I hate the ones
who forget the souls
that got stabbed
just to keep them safe.

Imagine
the petrification
when I realized
I was one of them.

Crowned an empress
because my wounds are hidden,
my betrayals quiet,
tucked beneath charm
and soft-spoken storms.

One day,
I’ll choose adventure over steady,
fun over loyalty—
and call it growth,
or freedom,
or whatever sells best.

But the truth?

Karma will come
for the ones who did to me
what I did to them.
And somehow,
that feels
reassuring—
that I tasted
what I inflicted.

That I chose shimmer—
and they get the gem
elsewhere.