"Villain, Right?"
I became the villain
because you needed one—
not because I lied,
but because I stopped running after your truth.
You made me the monster
the moment I stopped bleeding for your comfort.
You called me cold,
but forgot the warmth I burned to keep you whole.
You told them I changed—
but never said why.
How many times can someone break
before pieces refuse to fit again?
I was the villain
for saying no,
for walking away
when staying meant killing myself slow.
You loved the version of me
that stayed quiet, forgave fast,
the one who begged to be chosen
and clapped while being last.
But the moment I chose myself,
you screamed betrayal.
Funny how your love had conditions
and your pain came with a label—me.
You turned me into the villain
in a story you wrote half-asleep.
But even villains have scars
and stories too deep for you to keep.
So go ahead,
burn my name to the ground.
Just know—
I was never the villain.
You just hated that I finally stood my ground.