Writers 
People will hurt you and act like you hurt them!
They throw stones, then ask why you’re bleeding
Point at the mess they made, say “look what you’re doing”
Break you in pieces, then call you too fragile
Light the fire, then cry “why is it so dark?”
They rewrite the story in real time
Erase their fingerprints from the crime
And when you finally go quiet to heal
They say “see? you never cared anyway”
Funny how the ones who cut deepest
Wear victim like a second skin
I go quiet to survive and suddenly "I'm cold"
I set a boundary and suddenly "I'm toxic"
I stop begging to be understood and suddenly I "don't care"
But let them.
Let them perform.
You’re not here to audition for their guilt.
You’re here to walk away with your peace intact
Even if they clap while you leave.
They want the apology for the reaction,
never for what caused it.
They want you small enough to forgive,
loud enough to blame.
I learned peace isn't noisy.
It doesn't explain itself twice.
It just closes the door softly,
and let's the story die outside.
So no,
I'm not cold.
I'm done bleeding on people
who brought the knives.
