suddenly i’m relevant when a photo shows the logo of a drink in my hand and then everyone wants to play “can you spot the wedding band?” i played a sold out apology tour to wolves in sheep clothing - people who get off on my self loathing. nosey strangers send me “i thought that you were sober” and if i don’t explain myself they blame it on bipolar because, silly girl, it’s only deemed composure if there’s exposure. unless there’s photo evidence of your evolution you’re asking for persecution because if they aren’t the audience, they simply don’t trust the revolution. show them the scars on your wrist but only without filter - dance for them, be human but still okay while being off kilter. be likable and motivational and please don’t post this poem because it’s way too confrontational. i don’t owe anyone anything - i know it’s hard to believe but i’m done placing my heart on the sleeves of thieves who, with lotion in their hands, stare at my life through a computer screen. sure, say that you'll pray for me but just like you, he's not listening. i finally realized that i control the narrative which is why you don't know shit - it's why i'm doing well but i waited until now in this piece to write it. so, cheers to my old puppeteers and for the first time on my social media in years (and listen closely) this poem IS what the fuck it appears.