You Don’t Get To
You don’t get to spend years making me hungry and then act surprised when I starve.
You don’t get to tell me I’m beautiful, desirable, irresistible, and then disappear the moment I ask for something more substantial than another fantasy.
Don’t light the match if you’re going to run from the fire.
Don’t tell me to trust what I feel if you’ve already decided my feelings are only welcome when they’re convenient for you.
My body isn’t your playground.
My heart isn’t your escape room.
I am not the place you visit when reality gets heavy before returning to the life you actually chose.
You don’t get to awaken something primal in me and then leave me alone to wrestle it back into its cage.
Do you know what rage feels like?
It feels like wanting to bite someone you once wanted to kiss.
It feels like your hands remembering a body they’ve never touched.
It feels like every nerve ending screaming for closure that never comes.
I deserved honesty.
Instead, I got silence.
And silence is the cruelest thing a coward can hand to someone who loved them.
You don’t get to tell me I’m beautiful, desirable, irresistible, and then disappear the moment I ask for something more substantial than another fantasy.
Don’t light the match if you’re going to run from the fire.
Don’t tell me to trust what I feel if you’ve already decided my feelings are only welcome when they’re convenient for you.
My body isn’t your playground.
My heart isn’t your escape room.
I am not the place you visit when reality gets heavy before returning to the life you actually chose.
You don’t get to awaken something primal in me and then leave me alone to wrestle it back into its cage.
Do you know what rage feels like?
It feels like wanting to bite someone you once wanted to kiss.
It feels like your hands remembering a body they’ve never touched.
It feels like every nerve ending screaming for closure that never comes.
I deserved honesty.
Instead, I got silence.
And silence is the cruelest thing a coward can hand to someone who loved them.
