Amelia James Poetry

For S. You know who you are, and I hope this reaches you. I am deeply sorry for everything.

-A

I had no right to 

ask the things I did from you— 

my anger misdirected, tangled in fabric 

you had no part in weaving.

The sweatshirt hung on your shoulders, 

its threads held by his lies, 

stitched together by the stories 

he told in whispers, half-truths, and shadows.

You wore it without knowing, 

its weight not yours to bear. 

I see now it was him— 

the weaver of wild fantasies— 

who made us rivals in a tale 

neither of us agreed to tell.

But my words, sharp as knives, 

did more than speak my hurt. 

They escalated the tension between us, 

a fire I stoked with my control and misplaced anger, 

turning pain into hatred— 

yours, mine, and ours.

I wanted the truth to come to light— 

to expose the fractures his lies created. 

Yet my actions ripped apart relationships 

that had no chance at mending.

In my desire to make sense of the chaos, 

to convey the depth of my hurt— 

that he told me he loved me 

while telling you he no longer wanted me— 

I wielded my pain recklessly.

I became the storm, 

adding fuel to the fire instead of dousing the flames. 

I made you an enemy 

when you were just another casualty of his deception.

I should have held him to account. 

Instead, I saw you as the thief of a trust already stolen.

You had no part in his games, 

no hand in his deception. 

I had no right to demand silence, 

to fault you for the comfort he gave.

It was he who unraveled the threads, 

his words unraveling the trust between us all. 

But I am not without blame. 

My anger created walls that could not be climbed, 

and my actions turned loose ends into a web of hatred.

The anger I hurled at you 

should have landed at his feet. 

For it was he who unraveled the threads— 

leaving us both clutching loose ends.

-Amelia James