Between Bruises & Blooms

I didn’t buy a ticket.

I didn’t ask
for a front-row seat
to the shitshow
you built out of your own mouth.

But somehow
my name kept appearing
under videos
I never made,
beneath jokes
I didn’t start,
inside comment sections
full of strangers
who knew enough
to tag me
but not enough
to know why.

There I was—

a blue username
under someone else’s chaos.

@ me.

What did you do now?

As if I had done anything
except survive you.

As if I had pulled the strings,
lit the stage,
trained the clowns,
released the fucking elephants.

You started fights
with strangers
and somehow
I became part of the lore.

A woman
who once loved you
reduced to an inside joke
on an app
full of people
watching you unravel.

And maybe
that should have embarrassed me.

Maybe I should have hidden
every time my name appeared.

But eventually
I realized something—

they weren’t laughing
because I had loved you.

They were laughing
because you kept proving
why I stopped.

So no,

I never joined your circus.

I just escaped the tent
before everyone else
realized
it was on fire.