Burn

I’ve been too fucking kind.

Too quiet when I should’ve screamed.

Too forgiving when I should’ve slammed the door

and torched the hinges on the way out.

People saw my open hands

and thought I wouldn’t use them to fight.

They saw my softness

and decided it was theirs to take.

They drained me.

Took pieces of me like they were souvenirs.

Guilt-tripped me. Gaslit me.

Beat me down with smiles

and told me I was “too sensitive” when I bled.

But hear me now:

I’m done.

I’m done being someone’s emotional dumping ground.

I’m done swallowing my rage to keep the peace

in rooms where no one ever gave a fuck about mine.

I’m done shrinking to fit their comfort zones.

I’ve lit the match,

and I am watching the bridges burn—

not with regret,

but with glory.

Let the bridges I burn light the fuckingg way.

Let the flames show me every place I don’t need to go back to.

Let the smoke carry the ghosts of who I used to be—

the girl who said “it’s fine” through tears,

the girl who thought love meant being small,

the girl who forgot herself to make others comfortable.

No more.

I am not the girl you underestimated.

I am not the one you broke.

I am the woman who walked through hell,

built a home in the ashes,

and dares—dares—to rise.

If that makes me “too much”?

Good.

I hope I haunt you with the sound of my name

when you realise you will never

get this fire again.

Let the bridges burn.

Let them blaze.

Let them light the way.

Because I am going forward—

fucked up, healing, raging, and free.

And I’m not looking back.