Amelia James Poetry

You stir the stillness,
whispering falsehoods that cling to the air,
each deception a filament,
entangling me in webs of doubt
until my breath stutters,
my pulse quickens,
and I fracture.

You prevaricate,
sidestepping truth like a shadow,
crafting narratives that belong only to you.
Your words slip through cracks
like water over stone,
leaving me gasping
for the clarity you withhold.

In the distorted mirror of your design,
I become the reflection
you crafted—
the chaos you nurtured
with every misdirection,
every equivocation.
My frustration,
my sorrow,
my anger—
they are the echoes of your manipulation,
your careful orchestration.

You call it “overreaction,”
but it is the reaction to your erosion—
the tremors you set in motion
when you stripped the truth bare
and planted doubt in the spaces between us.
I was never the storm;
I was only the land
shaking beneath the weight of your deceit.

You, the architect of this labyrinth,
cast me as the unruly one,
the one who breaks under pressure,
when it is you who thrives in the shadows,
preying on my fragility.
Each step I took in search of truth
was a step deeper into your maze,
but now, I see—
I see that you were the one
weaving the illusion,
pulling the strings
while I danced to your fractured rhythm.

But now,
the smoke clears,
and I find my voice—
not the one you warped,
not the version you twisted into someone I was never meant to be.
In this moment of stillness,
I know the truth:
it was never me who fractured.
It was always you.

-Amelia James