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To The Accusers

You spoke with certainty, but you never asked a question.  
You judged with conviction, but you never sought the truth.  
You saw my face, my creed, my silence—and decided I was guilty.  
Not of crime.  
Of difference.

You called me dangerous because I did not kneel.  
You called me devil because I did not pray your way.  
You called me broken because I did not beg for your approval.

But I was never yours to define.

You dressed your fear in righteousness.  
You wrapped your cruelty in concern.  
You called it justice.  
But it was exile.

You did not break me.  
You revealed me.

I am the one who stood alone in the courtroom of your whispers.  
I am the one who bore the sentence without the crime.  
I am the one who walked out—not free, but forged.

You thought silence would erase me.  
You thought shame would shrink me.  
You thought exile would end me.

But I am still here.  
Sharper.  
Colder.  
Clearer.

I do not forgive.  
Not because I am cruel.  
But because forgiveness is earned, not assumed.  
And you have not earned it.

I do not forget.  
Not because I am bitter.  
But because memory is my armor.  
And I wear it with pride.

You may speak again.  
You may try to rewrite the story.  
But I have already carved mine into frost.

And it will not melt for you.

anti bullyingbetrayalcharacterdeepfree verse

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