yeah, hun. you are the bitch in question 🖤 xox

🖤🖤🖤

nah
yeah, bro.
i linked it.
(yo i dropped multiple—
you’re just bitch 1, 2, 3…
or, a subplot?
fuck it idc)
yeah,
it was about you.
did it hurt?
oh—shit.
….

ok well—
you left me in utter fucking flames, bitch.
left me in ruins.
not even a second thought.
did i ruin your little scroll moment?
good.
shut the fuck up.

but hey—
could’ve been someone else, right?
could’ve been
“wow, that reminds me of so-and-so.”
except it wasn’t.
it was,
“oh. shit.
the bitch is me.”

and yeah.
the bitch is you.
i didn’t stutter.

you saw it and knew.
your hands started sweating.
your stomach turned.
not because i lied,
but because i didn’t.

and it’s gross.

(and babe—i haven’t slept in 48+ hours,
but i can still clock your epic-level betrayal
with surgical fucking precision.
because it’s that tangible.
because it still lives in my chest cavity like a nail gun.)

and now you’re out here playing shocked?
like you didn’t make every single line possible?
nah.
be serious.

this post?
this little link you’re so pressed about?
this is literally all i have left after the wreckage.
this is the closure you never gave me.
a fucking google doc with feelings.

you think this is cruel?
nah, bro.
what’s cruel is knowing how bad it got for me
and how you didn’t give a single fuck.

🖤

i gave you everything—
(probably for a decade)

and you gave me
bullshit.
abandonment.
your silence as i died in slo-mo.

but the second i write a paragraph that makes you feel personally attacked?
you’re suddenly spiritual and sensitive again?

suddenly you have time?

nah.
keep that energy.
take it back to whatever sad little room you’re sulking in.
(it’s probably fucking dirty)

🖤

this wasn’t libel.
this was just me finally telling the pathetic truth
in a way you finally couldn’t interrupt.
or ignore.

or spiritually bypass with chakras or some shit.

and guess what?
you’re still the only one who knows it’s you.

which is kind of hilarious.
and kind of fucking pathetic.

anyway—
cry about it.
or don’t.
idc.
either way, you earned it.

🖤🖤🖤

and now you’re pingin’ my fucking inbox.
leaving little comments.
typing up sad girl defenses like you’re about to get cross-examined.
girl, be so for real.

you didn’t have ten minutes to bring me a wawa coffee,
but now you’ve got paragraphs?

nah.
get the fuck out of my inbox.
go cry to your husband or whatever.
you missed your shot when i needed help—
now all i hear is delusion as you defend yourself against a poem.

go get a job.
a life.

or
get fucked.

so—
which bitch is you?
are you the hippie bitch fraud?
the jesus girl bitch who can’t read?
the bitch who got a glow-up from my true crime survival narrative?
the sub-plot bestie bitch that didn’t even make a full character arc?

mm.
sounds familiar,
doesn’t it?
all sound equally shitty—
but also…
accurate.

if the bitch type fits.
wear it, hoe.