Amelia James Poetry

they didn’t believe her.
not when she cried.
not when she begged.
not when she said,
“this isn’t just in my head.”

they told her to move on.
to stop making it worse.
to let it go.

but you didn’t let it go, did you?

you picked up her story
while she was still living it.
scratched your name
into pages that weren’t yours
and smiled when they believed it.

so i came instead.
not with rage—
with strategy.
not to fight—
to document.

i didn’t need to make anything up.
you handed me the proof.
you gave me the script.
and you never once looked behind the mask.

you thought i was neutral.
thought i was safe.
thought you could say whatever you wanted
because the girl you hurt
wasn’t in the room.

but i was.
i always was.
just quiet enough
for you to forget
she had teeth.

you rewrote her pain into your innocence.
turned her grief into gossip.
and when the spotlight hit you,
you played the victim
like you practiced.

they cheered.
you won.

but only because you never thought
someone might be listening
from inside the walls.

you call me manipulative.
a liar.
too far gone.

but i didn’t change the story.
i just remembered the one
you tried to steal.

you don’t build a trojan horse
unless the truth’s been locked out long enough
to rot.

they call me the villain?

they should be grateful
i kept the receipts
instead of setting the whole damn place on fire.

i didn’t come to make noise.
i came to make sure
the version of me who died telling
would never be silenced again.

-Amelia James