what you built with my bones

betrayal. i'm sick of holding in it.

you took what we built together and tried to make it yours.
you kept the language, the tone, the tenderness —
but left out the soul that shaped it.
you cut me out of the very thing we conceived in whispers and late-night voice notes.
you made a brand out of my backbone.
you launched something sacred with your fingers crossed behind your back.
and i watched you.
i still do.
because the fruits you now reap
come from the seeds i planted.

you cannot steal what was always mine.
you can mimic the words,
but you cannot carry the weight behind them.
you can paint the surface,
but you cannot conjure the marrow.
because what made it special
was never the font or the feed.
it was me.

you’re building off the foundation i laid.
the vision i shared.
the freedom i gave you
when i still believed we were dreaming together.
you’re standing on my shoulders
and pretending you found your footing.

i don’t owe you softness.
not when you met my trust with strategy.
not when you turned sisterhood into silence.
and not when you offered a carefully timed kindness —
as if a ribbon on the wreckage could make it beautiful.
as if a tender gesture could rewrite the story.
you knew the damage.
and you tried wrapping it in grace.

i name the grief.
i name the theft.
i name the rage that bubbles
when i see you profit off my silence.
i name the ache of being unseen, unheard, unthanked.

and i also name me.

i am the pulse.
the root.
the one who stayed true.
i am the one who chose presence over performance,
integrity over image,
healing over hustle.

and this chapter?
you’re not in it.

and you?
you’ll always know
whose bones you built it on.