Just Because You Make It a Game (Doesn’t Mean I Have to Play)

You set the stage.
Drew the lines.
Declared the rules
no one else agreed to.
You made it a game—
but I never asked to play.

This isn’t strategy.
It’s sabotage.
And you mistake it for sport.

You build traps from accusations,
baiting with blame,
hoping we’ll rush in to justify ourselves.
But I don’t owe you a single defence.
I have the truth.
And that is enough.

You say you’re being excluded.
As if that happened by accident.
As if the people who walked away
did so with my voice in their ears
instead of your. own. words.

They left because of you.
Because of the lies,
the cruelty,
the damage you delivered
with a smile.

But your mind can’t hold that.
So you twist it.
Distort it.
Rewrite the narrative
until you are the victim
of a story you authored
with your own fowl mouth.

You throw stones
and call it a game.
But I’ve set mine down.
I don’t need weapons
when I’ve got peace.

So go on.
Play in your unlit labyrinth.
Wander the maze
of your own making.
Curl up in the subbasement
of your malignant narcissism
and call it a throne.

I don’t need to fight.
I don’t need to explain.
I have love.
I have light.
I have good.

And all you have
is a mirror you refuse to look into.

Just because you make it a game
doesn’t mean
I have to play.