nah but this is me being chill. 💀

yeah,
i forgive you.
but yeah—
i also reported it.

because baby?

this is:

truth,
accountability,
and why i don’t hate you—
but i’m done protecting
you from your-fucking-self.

and nah, babe.
this ain’t emotional—
i’m just done covering for
your fucking crimes.

…

yo, for real—
i don’t hate you.
i never fucking did.
i’m not built like that.
hate rots your insides
and makes you carry people
longer than they fucking deserve.
and god knows,
i’ve already carried this shit
long enough.

(fucking amen)

but what i do believe in?
truth.
accountability.
and the fucking audacity
to say what happened—
out fucking loud.

✶

because here’s
the psychology of it:
the fucking 101:
when you protect people
from the truth of what they did,
you don’t love them.
you enable them.
you build them a delusion.
and they’ll live in it—forever—
if no one burns it the fuck down.

when you let someone
hurt you
and you absorb it in silence,
you’re not healing.
you’re fucking decaying.
you’re erasing yourself
to keep the peace
in a room
that has already
declared a goddamn war on you.

truth must be spoken.
out loud.
with fucking teeth.
with the goddamn records.
with your whole fucking chest.

because trauma
doesn't just stem
from the violence—
it stems from the denial of it.
the gaslighting.
the erasure.
the “was it really that bad?”
yes.
it fucking was.

and silence is how it happens again.
and again.
and again.

✶

the philosophy of it?
truth is sacred.
truth is relational.
truth is the only way
any of us can ever really be known.
and i fucking refuse
to be a stranger
to myself
just so someone else
can stay comfortable
in their fucking hallucination.

forgiveness is
not the same as erasure.
i can not hate you,
and still require you
to fucking look at what you did.
i can not wish you harm,
and still say: you harmed me.
you harmed our child.
you destabilized my entire fucking life.
you cost me
peace,
money,
health,
safety,
time.
and no,
love doesn't erase the fucking debt.
it demands justice.

you wanna be better?
then sit in what you’ve done.
feel it.
own it.
fucking name it.

because without that?
you’re not healing.
you’re hiding.
you’re not changing.
you’re just mutating in horseshit.

and i am not your
mirror anymore.
i’m not the surface
you get to bounce
your goddamn denial off of.

people think
withholding the truth
is fucking grace.
it’s not.
it’s fucking cowardice.
and i’m not a coward.
i’m not a martyr.
i’m not your punching bag,
your rebound,
your emotional fucking accountant.
i’m not here to swallow my screams
so you can sleep better.

truth is necessary.
accountability is fucking holy.
and consequences
are the only language
some people understand.

so no,
i don’t want to destroy you.
i want to interrupt you.
i want to say:
this ends here.
not just for me.
but for the next woman.
for the next kid.
for whoever would’ve been next.
for my daughter, watching.

you don’t get to leave blood
on the fucking floor
and call it spilled milk.
not in my home.
not in my goddamn life.

✶

i don’t hate you.
i just refuse to be your accomplice.
and if that feels like betrayal to you?
good.
maybe now you know
how the fuck it feels

to be stabbed
in the goddamn back.