i chose peace. you chose violence.

✶

nah—
y’all are truly tripping.
i really tried to be nice.
i really tried to choose “peace”
i really tried to fucking love you.

you chose violence.

yo.
i did not wake up aggressive,
i evolve into it.
like—
you gotta really work for the privilege
of seeing me turn heartbreak into
an atomic fucking explosion.

nah babe,
i don’t go nuclear right out the gate.
i ration that shit.
because i remember what it felt like
to almost fucking die
from someone’s casual cruelty
in the middle of my own personal apocalypse.

like y’all think
i came out the womb swinging?
nah babe,
i earned this.

and honestly—
i hold back,
because
i still remember

random shit like
seventh grade:
home life on hell mode,
literally fighting for my life—
whole ass friend group
lost the baby fat overnight
shopped at hollister 1x
and then—
calls me a spaz to my face.
after i invited them to a theme park
and they literally said nah
and then went with-fucking-out me.
girls,
seriously.
if you’d seen half my shit
you’d be twitching in a padded room
singing the law & order theme.
yeah, i was a spaz.
it’s called nervous system collapse.

high school:
backpack of shame,
sleeping on floors,
dodging creative violence from pop,
smiling while the “have no trauma” girls giggle—
right.
y’all had sleepovers,
i was running game theory on whether
i could stage a car accident for my dad
and make it look like fate.

and you wonder why i keep the flamethrower holstered.

fast-forward:
i’m just home from the hospital,
from getting my ass beat,
delivering—
while these bitches blow up my phone
about drama and tax forms.
with threats
like,
sorry i missed your venmo request, ashley,
i was a little busy
not getting date-lined bitch.

white-girl crisis hotline lighting up
while i’m out here starring in a true crime doc.

now—
you.
fuck.
i want to roast you,
but i still taste that soft spot
in the back of my fucking throat.
do you know what it’s like
to get a text from someone who meant everything
right after you escape your own fucking dad
dragging you out the car by your hair,
handprint still on your neck,
mom just had a fucking brain aneurysm
left my kid
with a fucking predator
and i’m like—
holy shit
maybe life isn’t just:
getting punched in the head,
restraining orders,
and the world’s shittiest survival instinct?

nah, you don’t.

babe.

you hit me up—
at the precise moment,
i was debating
if god existed or if karma
was just a middle finger in a baby-blue sky.
for five fucking seconds
i thought,
maybe the universe
wasn’t all brutality and police reports.
maybe you meant it.
maybe you wouldn’t epically fuck me this time.

i even tried to fucking tell you.
tears streaming down
my dumb fucking face
please, i prayed
like a truly dumb bitch—
understand me
don’t fuck with me.
but nah—
randomly.
out of nowhere

just fucking

silence.
then radio static.
then the kind of ghosting
that would make houdini get a fucking boner.
like,
one day it’s
“let’s build a life,”
next day i’m full-scale
fucking invisible—
no credits,
no scene,
not even a goddamn post-it note goodbye.

THANK YOU,
I REALLY NEEDED THAT.

and yeah—
you’re the victim.

but wait:

✨ bonus round:
because it’s the truth.
and fucking WEIRD.
ready?
your personal jesus-freak hostage-taker
follows my ass—
same fucking day
🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡
(i shit you not)
literally binge-watching my trauma,
stalking my socials like it’s her fucking job,
while i’m out here googling
“how to stay alive after getting curb-stomped
by hope, men, and the cost of milk.”

and you’re out here handing out sympathy—
for her.

LMFAO.

i just sit there dazed.
like yeah bro.
sounds bad.

fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

like is this a fucking game to you?
is this real life?

literally:

get the fuck out of here.

🖤

bro—
i was walking through an actual
fucking nightmare.
but hey:
thanks for the final emotional blow.

[next time i’m just gunna be a manipulative, weak bitch]

but NOPE,
i don’t go looking for war.
but if you drag me to the battlefield,
i go full scorched earth.

i keep my claws in—
because i know one mean comment
can end a whole fucking story.
but push me?
i salt the fucking earth.
i knock planets out of fucking orbit.
and babe,
i do it laughing.

i was bred for this shit.
i chose peace.
over and over and over.

y’all chose cruelty and silence.

so yeah,
maybe i don’t start shit.
but i finish it
with a flamethrower and a fuck-you playlist.

and hey.

at least i didn’t build
my whole fucked up personality
on hurting people who were already
one disaster away
from not making it.

and then crying,
”i’m a victim”

real nice, guys.
just don’t say:
that you ever gave—
a single shit.

✶

and
hey—
come close…
when you ask me
how i’ll turn rage into peace—
maybe start by asking yourself
why you needed me to swallow it
in the first place.