ABOUT THE POEM: The final rage against break-up songs is the voice of someone who stood still, gave everything, and was abandoned anyway—then had to listen to the leaver’s departure turned into art that the whole world applauds as “brave” and “relatable.” The speaker refuses to consume that art anymore because every “forget me” lyric feels like the abandoner getting a second chance to twist the knife while being celebrated for it.The moment a song or poem glides in
with that honeyed, velvet voice murmuring,
“Forget me-
I had my reasons.
People drift, seasons turn,
that’s just life,”
a bomb goes off behind my ribs-
pure fire, instant cardiac rage.
I turn on the singer, the speaker, the page:
Why did you have to leave?
I never moved.
I stayed rooted.
You walked.
You didn’t give me the courtesy of a fight,
didn’t let me scream,
“Don’t go-come back.”
You just wrapped your clever heart in excuses,
said you’d love me forever,
then vanished like smoke.
I was left holding every accusation,
every unpaid emotional bill,
while you posed as the wise one
who “let go gracefully.”
If the universe wants to fall off the table,
let it shatter.
But you-
you chose to jump first.
You should never have left me
clutching the empty space
where your name used to live.
So I slam the book.
I yank the earphones out.
I kill the song mid-note.
I will not swallow
one more beautiful lie
that calls abandonment brave.
I stopped listening to music altogether.
Every melody drags ghosts through the door,
and I have no room left for the dead.
For years I hated the sunlight
spilling through the skylight onto my table-
the same light you once loved-
because now it only reminded me
I no longer wanted it.
