dear diary

dear motherfucking diary,

i’ve been trapped in my head all day, dissecting feelings i shouldn't even have to explain. i want to hate them, but hatred feels too deliberate. it's like giving them the honor of occupying more space. still, how can i not? when their apologies are curated performances, rehearsed guilt with no spine? i saw the shade and the way accountability got dressed in pretty excuses. it makes me SICK how i’ve always swallowed my pride, softened my voice, just to make space for people who'd never bleed for me. perhaps, i’ve been too fucking kind to people who confuse my silence for weakness. dearest, my peace is wrecked by the quiet disgust of knowing they’ll never admit the harm they caused and that i still keep trying to forgive them anyway. because dear motherfucking diary, i'm scared. im SO scared of me. if i set this match to flame, it will burn them alive.

c., raging