I don’t raise my voice.
I don’t swing first.
I let silence carve the truth
Into the bones of the room.
You thought love
was a leash to break.
You thought I’d beg
at the gates you ran through.
But I’ve never needed the door
you slammed behind you —
I am the house.
I am the storm.
She traded up in comfort,
down in soul.
Wrapped herself in shallow grins
and the echo of your ego.
But I was the spine —
the one who held it all
when it trembled.
You think you’ve won.
But I am not the one
you discard without consequence.
I don’t haunt —
I hover in the conscience,
show up in her silence,
in the space you’ll never reach
no matter how many mirrors
you flex in.
This isn’t revenge.
This is remembrance —
of what real looks like
when it walks away,
still whole,
still crowned,
still unbothered.
I don’t fight for thrones.
I am the kingdom.
And you —
you just rented the illusion
for a night too long.