You wanted to be the biggest man in the room—
but never did the work
to be worth listening to.
You confused being loud
with being right.
Expected respect
just for showing up
and taking up space.
You weaponized your wounds
and called it depth.
Played the victim
every time someone
held up a mirror.
And when I walked away,
after everything—
you looked me in the eye
and said:
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Exactly.
You didn’t do
a goddamn thing.
And that’s the problem.
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