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Not Holding Back

This poem is my way of confronting a chapter of my life that was both agonizing and transformative. It’s not just about heartbreak—it’s about the lies, the power dynamics, and the twisted emotions that left me questioning myself. The Corpse Bride isn’t just a metaphor; it’s how I felt—like someone stuck between the death of who I was and the birth of who I’m meant to be. Writing this isn’t about revenge; it’s about reclaiming my voice, my story, and the parts of me I thought I’d lost.


A boy who tried to find pleasure in someone else's lap,
Told me I should rise up from my nap.
I would have left this alone if you did not try to bring me down,
And then said Indian girls make you frown.

A boy who acted as if he was superior,
As if everyone he came across should kiss his posterior.
I am not the girl you thought I was,
Well, who told you that you were my boss?

Oh, I was in insurmountable pain,
But you talked about your "fayada" and what you can gain.
You called me crazy, a whirlwind of chaos,
But I was the storm that broke your gilded gloss.
Now you love your wife, a calmer sea,
While the tempest you left burns wild and free

If you were just a kid,
Then who was I?
A psycho? A nutjob?
Or the Corpse Bride?

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