author’s note, for the pressed.

babe.
zoom out.
reread.
breathe.

no name.
no handle.
no timestamp.
no screenshot.
no receipts.

but you’re so sure you’re exposed here?

like bro.
get real.
be fucking serious.
you’re spiraling over vibes and punctuation.
but the fact that you think it’s obvious?
baby… that’s a confession.

you think i wrote a whole emotional odyssey
to talk about your three-episode arc in my life?

girl.
be fr.
i’ve dated entire subplots.

lil boyfriends no one ever met.
frenemies i never posted.
situationships so cursed
even god closed his eyes.

whole eras
that didn’t make the story slide.

i’ve had great romances no one even knows existed.
exes who ghosted themselves.
exes i married.
exes i buried.

so when you’re rage-texting,
deep scrolling,
screenshotting—
link sharing…

just remember:
you’re the only one
who thinks it’s so obvious.

my girls don’t know.
my own mommy had to ask.

because that’s not the point.

this isn’t exposé.
it’s exorcism.

this isn’t revenge.
it’s recovery.

this isn’t a caption.
it’s scripture.

i don’t need to post the proof.
i am the proof.

and if the shoe fits?
lace that bitch up.
run it into the ground.
trip.