A Kevin by Any Other Name

Did me wrong?

I name names.

I will scream it to the world.

I wasn’t always this way.

I used to swallow everything whole,
bit my tongue until it bled,
kept my dirty laundry
hidden behind closed doors.

I didn’t want to be called difficult.
I didn’t want to be called dramatic.
I didn’t want anyone
to know what happened
when no one was watching.

So I kept quiet
for the sake of peace,
for the sake of harmony,
for the sake of not becoming
the person everyone would talk about.

But silence has a funny way
of rewriting history.

Eventually,
I realized

your best weapon against me
was my silence.

Every secret I kept
gave you room
to thrive.

Every time I said,
“It’s fine,”
you heard,

“Do it again.”

I was protecting
the very thing
that was killing me.

So I stopped.

So yeah, now, I name names.

I tell the stories
you thought my shame
would bury.

I pull the truth out
from under the rug
and leave it in the hallway.

Let people trip over it.

Yes, this is revenge.

But it’s not the kind
that leaves blood on my hands.

It’s the kind
that leaves your name
attached to the truth.

The kind
where every room
you walk into
already knows.

The kind
where you finally understand
what it feels like
to lose control
of the story.

You got to hurt me
in private.

I get to tell it
in public.

Maybe that’s cruel.

But I spent years
keeping your name clean
with my own mouth.

I’m not doing that anymore.

I name names.

And this time,
when everyone turns around,
they’ll be looking at you.