Amelia James Poetry

I get to be angry.
Not because it defines me,
but because it’s the only thing
that still burns
beneath the ashes of their words—
the lies they spun,
the hurt they thought was invisible.

I get to be angry
for the things they took without asking,
for the truth they twisted
and the cruelty they disguised as jokes.

I get to be angry
for the times he twisted my words
and her refusal to see my side which deepen the wound.
For the moments I was dismissed,
my confusion called “overreaction,”
my pain turned into his narrative,
where I was the manipulator
and he was the innocent one.

I get to be angry
for every laugh that echoed at my expense,
every time I tried to speak
and my voice was drowned out
by their stories of me,
so carefully curated by him,
leaving me questioning what was real.

I get to be angry
for the weight of their betrayal—
for her blind defense of him,
as if my truth was something
too complicated to understand,
as if his lies were more comforting
than the reality of what I was going through.

I get to be angry
because I knew, deep down,
that this was never about me—
it was about him,
controlling every narrative,
manipulating everyone,
even her,
to make sure his version of the story
was the only one that mattered.

I get to be angry
because for so long, I thought
I wasn’t allowed to feel—
that my reactions were too much,
that my voice was too loud.

I get to be angry
because it took years to recognize the truth—
that their words didn’t define me,
that I was never the villain in this story.

I get to be angry
because it was my truth
that shattered their illusion.

I get to be angry,
and in that anger, I find the courage
to speak without shame,
to reclaim my voice,
to stand on the ground
I once feared would crumble beneath me.

I get to be angry,
because it reminds me
that I’m still here,
and my truth—
still the same as it was 13 years ago—
is mine to hold.

-Amelia James