not my eulogy, not my crisis, not my job.

literally… who?

i don’t care that your brother died.
i don’t care that my uncle died.
i don’t care if grandma dies.
(she’s a bitch, always been a bitch)

you want me to pause
my actual safety planning
to emotionally validate
the passing of your least favorite sibling?
the one you only talked shit about?
nah.
not this season.

you said “i had to do it all alone”
then listed four people helping.
math ain’t mathing.
but martyrdom?
solid.

so let’s cut the shit.

you don’t get to claim yet another whole era—
over people who never even gave a fuck.
you don’t get to weaponize suffering
to neglect what’s living and breathing in front of you.

because where’s that box of clothes, ma?
right…no worries.
maybe next season.
when someone you don’t like,
isn’t dying.

because i’m alive.
always been here.
and i was never enough of an emergency for you.

so now i don’t stop for yours anymore.
because no one ever showed up for mine.

so bro.
i don’t do grief on demand.
and yo—
straight up?
you should have already known.
i wouldn’t give a single fuck.
so yeah, i mean…sorry?
i guess?

because honestly—

i was filing protection orders
while my guy was actually mad
i wouldn’t stop to hear about the new www.bullshit?

naahhhhhh.

my dude introduced himself to me,
like some guy at a bar.
“hi, i’m—”

like yooooooo—can we just not.
bro i was 17.
like—okay?
cool story.
who tf are you again?

where the fuck have you been?
for anything?
holidays. birthdays. trauma. survival.
nah…just silence.
and then… introductions?

but now?
drop everything?
go full mourning gown and violin solo?

nope—
let the next one die.
call it fucking cold.
call it fucking savage.
call it whatever the fuck helps you sleep at night.

some losses hit.
some don’t.
some never even said hello.

🖤 no tears for people who never noticed i was alive. 🖤