Between Bruises & Blooms

Eventually
the live ended.

The comments stopped
moving.

People closed
the app.

Phones went dark.

Someone probably
made dinner.

Someone went to bed.

Someone laughed
about something else.

The internet
moved on
because the internet
always does.

But I still had
to live
inside the body
you had just handed
to strangers.

That is the part
people forget.

A screen closes.

A violation doesn’t.

You can end a live
with one button.

You cannot
press END
on humiliation.

You cannot delete
the knowledge
that somewhere,
someone saw
what they were never
supposed to see.

Maybe screenshots existed.

Maybe they didn’t.

For a long time,
not knowing
became its own
kind of haunting.

How many?

Who?

Where did they go?

But eventually
I got tired
of treating my own body
like a crime scene.

So I stopped
asking.

Let them have pixels.

Let them have
whatever fragments
you threw
into the dark.

They never had me.

You never had me.

Not really.

Because I am still here,
whole
in ways
you never understood.

And the live ended
years ago.

So did
your access
to me.