Spite is its own overcommitment and a self-preservation instinct. Self-love is enough even if it’s only saying to yrself “I’m surviving” while passively practicing silence. Tell everyone that I’m thriving...As though I share yall disbelief at the doublespeak dressed as apologies. Those closest to me cut me off when I speak. Macroaggressive and projecting, thus not worth mentioning. Backward I move too, but I trip over The cAsUaLTiEs, life lost is no cost for a lapse in humanity. Congratulate me, sight unseen. Congratulate me, a nigga finally free. You literally put yr hands on me and all you’ll ever get is leave. Take leave of the speech of the truth you hate and shout it down as fake, lie in wait, lie and wait. Lie awake each night, or D) All of the above, yo I love to lie and I live to love
On god I will not participate, lemme rephrase, no more faith in the process, potential as progress, or intangible sweet nothings prepackaged as promises. All them lil vacations in the crossfire between you and yr future selves, is of a trajectory of dishonesty that leaves transgressions propelled. You see the tragedy as yrs to manage, a wound if you grip tight enough you think you can bandage. I’ll only accept apologies in cash or true change, but I will reclaim my time all the same. Dolo, left to wonder, wandering, questioning what it is to mitigate my guilt in not standing up and saying what I just won’t tolerate. You literally put yr hands on me, yr anger was never surprising.
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