Inked in Fire

Photo by Elisabeth Arnold on Unsplash

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To my character assassins—

I mapped your path.
Wrote your names down.
Inked them with disgust, ache, tears, sweat, and snot.

Your judgments were accepted by the masses.
Your contempt became morality.
Your punishment was called fair.
Just.

“She deserved it,” they cheered.

You razed my name
and with it buried opportunities, futures, versions of me
that never had the chance to exist.

You left me with more than ruins.

For a time,
your judgments became my own.
Your shame wrapped itself around me,
tight as smoke,
until I could barely breathe.

Then I held the pen.

Rage turned its ink to fire.

And fire traced your path back to its source.

Some of you were denied access to my flesh.
Others were predators
who chose cruelty to escape accountability.

I chose silence.
You mistook it for weakness.

Others projected.
Others saw an opening and joined in.

But all of you chose this.

You chose the path.
Moralized it.
Justified it.

Now fire inks rage across paper.

I write your names.
I spit on them.
I curse them.
I feed them to the flames.

And I watch the shame you laid on me
blacken,
curl,
and turn to ash.

Photo by GG on Unsplash