The Dam Is Breached
Leave no room for manipulation.
That’s your version.
I trust mine.
You keep calling me sensitive
to dodge the weight in your hands,
but I’m not confused—
I’m simply not agreeing.
I won’t keep spinning my voice
so you can keep erasing it;
twisting my words
does not make you right.
The truth struck—
I heard it in the force of your reply.
Pattern spotted:
every time I open my chest,
you change the subject.
If you cared for the pulse inside my telling,
you’d stop slicing at it
with that scalpel of concern.
This doesn’t smell of connection;
it reeks of control.
The mask is slipping—
I won’t debate reality.
The door is open,
and I’m stepping through it—
choosing peace
over the theatre of performance.
.