I opened my door the way sons are taught,
With faith in my hands and a lesson unbought.
I called it love, you called it “what’s mine,”
And crossed every boundary, one rule at a time.
The rules were just noise, respect was a chore,
Order offended you, so you made more.
Rooms filled with clutter, with things you “might need,”
While I paid in patience you never would heed.
Receipts piled high like debts left unpaid,
Money disappeared, but the habits all stayed.
You lived there for free while I covered the cost,
Not just with my wallet, but with what I had lost.
I swallowed my anger, I steadied my breath,
Let peace die slowly to avoid a small death.
I bent until breaking so you’d never feel pressed,
While chaos lay heavy in my home, in my chest.
And when I closed doors, not in anger or spite,
Just firm in the day and calm in the night.
You didn’t look inward, didn’t pause or reflect,
You searched for an audience, hungry for effect.
Now you play the victim, rehearsed and refined,
Selling your story while smearing my name.
You trade in half-truths and convenient disguise,
Wearing your wounds like a crown made of lies.
But here’s what you don’t get to twist or erase.
I know what I gave. I know what I faced.
Your mess was your making, your choices your own,
Your failure to change is not mine to atone.
I didn’t abandon you, I learned how to swim,
Stopped drowning in guilt just to keep you within.
If truth makes me cruel in the tale that you spin,
Then I’ll wear that crown and call it a win.
I’d rather be honest and lose your applause
Than live as your silence, complicit in cause.