You took the room, you took the blame, I named my part, I said my name. I said I broke it, I said I ran, I said the damage came from my hands. I heard your hurt, I held it still, I bent my mouth around your will. Then you stepped past what I confessed, put words in my throat and called them best. You told me what I felt that night— one more verdict dressed as right. I can own what I did. I will not wear what you invent. You crossed the line— now hear what happens next. I AM ANGRY—SAY IT PLAIN! YOU DON’T GET TO TAKE MY VOICE! I NAME WHAT I DID, I DON’T ERASE THE SCAR, BUT I WON’T BE YOUR VERSION OF WHO I AM! NO—NO—YOU DON’T GET TO SPEAK FOR ME! NO—NO—YOU DON’T GET TO BURY ME! I OWN THE DAMAGE—YOU DON’T OWN MY TONGUE! YOU TOLD ME WHAT I FELT—NOW HEAR ME SAY NO! You called it care when you seized the wheel, made my own blood into something unreal. You said, “You meant it, you always do,” as if my mouth belonged to you. I know the names of the doors I kicked, the silences I sharpened, the trust I split. But every fault is not your pen— don’t write my inside and sign it again. I did it. I regret it. I will answer. I will not disappear inside your answer. I AM ANGRY—SAY IT PLAIN! YOU DON’T GET TO TAKE MY VOICE! I NAME WHAT I DID, I DON’T ERASE THE SCAR, BUT I WON’T BE YOUR VERSION OF WHO I AM! NO—NO—YOU DON’T GET TO SPEAK FOR ME! NO—NO—YOU DON’T GET TO BURY ME! I OWN THE DAMAGE—YOU DON’T OWN MY TONGUE! YOU TOLD ME WHAT I FELT—NOW HEAR ME SAY NO! I am not innocent. I am not your container. Ask me what I did— don’t tell me what I felt. The record doesn’t close. The record doesn’t close— you can still talk. You can still—
