JUST SO THAT IT BE SAID, p.1
You do not get to kick the table over and cry that the game is not fair.
You do not get to pull my heartstrings and then claim you never learned the instrument.
Nor do you get to insult me, then reach for a plaster you licked first.
This is not miscommunication. This is calculated chaos disguised as confusion.
A paper mask of culture hides the cracked porcelain underneath.
You twist words like balloon animals, then gasp when they pop in your face.
I have spent years reducing myself to something you could maybe understand.
Duller. Softer. Easier to digest. I tucked my complexity beneath my tongue so you would not choke.
But I am done serving dim light to those who fear the sun.
Do not flatter yourselfβthis is not about your apology.
It is about the way you want to slip through consequences like smoke.
But I have opened the windows, darling. The draft is coming for you.
You said I was ugly.
Then tried to retract it like a clumsy magician palming a trick card.
But this is not sleight of hand. This is memory. Mine. Sharp. Clear. Unforgiving.
And me?
I am still beautiful, even when enraged. Especially when enraged.
Ugly does not suit me.
But cowardice? It wears you like a second skin.
And no, your words were not βtaken out of context.β
They were taken in your context. Loud, clear, and echoed.
Your intentions are not blurry. They are simply bad.
You mistook my silence for weakness, my kindness for softness, my mercy for availability.
Let me clarify:
I am not an emotional landfill.
I am not your soft place to fall when you have bruised yourself kicking down doors.
And I will not dress up your behaviour as noble confusion to make it digestible for the world.
The scarf has been torn.
The gloves are off.
The curtain has risen.
And your spotlight has burned out.
You struck the match, thinking I would fumble in the dark.
But darling, I am the flame.
And this time? You are not invited to the blaze.
βJust so that it be said.
