the little monster.

honestly? you were forgettable.
no one even clocked the threat.
(even though it was half a fucking decade)

you were just a dick.
a door-punching, threat-throwing, gaslight-spitting,
emotionally stunted little monster
with an inferiority complex
and a mediocre personality.

first red flag?
holes in your doors.
i noticed.
but i was young and stupid and thought
rage meant passion.
nope.
rage just means: run.

second?
you screamed at your mom
because she told you not to scream at me.
iconic behavior, really.
gave “man baby with entitlement issues”
a whole new dimension.

then came the full collection:
door-slamming.
verbal warfare.
breaking shit like you were auditioning
for america’s next top tantrum.
punching walls instead of checking into therapy.
classic.

you made destruction your personality
because you didn’t have a real one.

and god—
forcing me into your “adventure couple” fantasy?
as if camping in freezing temps
and trauma-bonding
were going to distract me from the fact
that you were a little man—
jealous of my day job.

newsflash:
i didn’t need to summit a mountain to feel alive.
i just needed to get the fuck away from you.

you pulled out your go-to threats,
weaponized my fear of abandonment—
“i’ll leave.”
“this isn’t working.”
“you’re crazy.”

you called me too much.
too anxious.
too fucked up.

but let’s be honest—
you weren’t overwhelmed.
you were out-gamed.
and deep down,
you knew the only thing keeping me around
was the fact that i hadn’t fully realized
you were the weakest link in the storyline.

you watched me rise.
from sleeping on your floor with a duffel bag
to running international yoga retreats.
from broke and barefoot
to becoming the fucking blueprint.
and it killed you.

because you were never untalented.
just mediocre.
and instead of doing something about it,
you turned on me.
because it was easier to rage
than rise.

i flew you all over the world.
paid for that shit.
same with your little sister—
like family.
like a fucking gangster.
i tried to build a life with you.
you tried to burn me down.

and when i was done?
when i changed the locks?
you did what weak men do.
tried to get me back.
and when that failed—
you rebounded a whole life.
(i’ve been there. lol.)

but truly—
i’ve never been jealous of her.
but i have prayed for her.
because i know what’s behind
that little man complex.

you were nice to everyone but me.
to the outside world,
you were “helpful.”
“chill.”
“such a good guy.”

you were never misunderstood.
you were just small.

a little monster with big tantrums and no legacy.
and the only thing more pathetic than what you did
is how long it took me
to stop calling that shit love.

but i did.

and truly—
falling in love with everything you weren’t,
broke me too—
but at least he reminded me that love exists.
that i can want more.
that i can be loved.

you never measured up.
(and i worry about her for that)

you were never anything but a brutal cage—
i had to escape.

and the best thing i ever did
was lock the door
before you got the chance
to burn anything else down.

and the only reason i say your name now
is to remind myself
what it took
to unlearn thinking that shit
was love.