The Burning Bridge

I was soft once—

quiet, careful,

apologizing for storms I didn’t summon.

But even silence has a snapping point.

Even mercy burns.

You mistook my grace

for a leash,

my peace for permission.

So you sparked the fuse,

drenched in your own pride—

and still expected rain.

But I don’t beg when I’m blamed.

I don’t kneel when I’m pushed.

I don’t apologize

for lighting the fire

when all you did was pour the gas.

So here I stand,

back turned, match lit,

watching the bridge crackle

with every lie you ever told.

And no, I won’t look back.

Let it burn.