Your Grave Is Not My Cross

You broke me, bruised me, chained me tight, then vanished into your chosen night.

You left a note a coward’s creed, spitting my name like a twisted seed.

You think your ghost can make me kneel?

That guilt is mine, that pain I’ll feel?

No — your death is your design, the rope, the bullet, the blade were thine.

I won’t wear shackles forged of lies, won’t bow beneath your final cries.

You left our children, left them bare, abandoned love that begged for care.

Rot in the soil you chose to keep, your blame is buried six feet deep.

I dance on the ashes of your name; your end is yours — I reject the shame.