Harsh battle wins

They told me

I was selfish for wanting air,

that my hurt was nothing

compared to the weight they carried.

They spat “think of others”

like it was holy scripture,

but they were their own altar,

burning every offering in their own name.

The harshness, they said,

was for my own good—

as if cruelty were a teacher,

as if love needed teeth.

Years wasted

trying to please mouths that only opened to bite.

Years bowing

to people who never learned to kneel.

Now my bones ache,

but not from age—

from the strain of holding up lies

I should have dropped decades ago.

No one wins here.

They never did.

I am done believing their sermons.

Their kindness was counterfeit,

their morality a performance.

I will spend what’s left of my time

making sure the last battle of their war is fought within me.