You accuse me of plotting,
a shadow lurking behind,
as if my voice whispered
to your friend, weaving lies,
twisting truth into shadows,
but I am not a weaver,
not a thief in your night.
I reached out to a soul,
not to betray, but to seek
a moment of clarity,
a connection unbound by
your spiraling doubts,
the reflection of you
in the glass of my silence.
You cast your insecurities
like nets into the water,
hoping to catch my intent,
but I don’t think like you.
Your self-esteem fractures
shatter into a million
pieces, all sharp edges,
but I will not bleed for you.
I was not even a thought
in your storm, your tempest
of mistrust, I was free,
an echo in a quiet room,
and now, I reclaim my voice,
not to fight, but to live,
unraveled from your shadow.