the consequence

the city doesn't love me. maybe it never did. people whisper my name like a curse they're trying not to invoke, or a storm they once survived and fear might come back stronger.

they're terrified because i remind them of what they tried to bury: all the ugly things they did in the dark, and the girl who crawled out glowing with rage.

now i'm all sharp edges and unfinished sentences.
i am no longer asking to be forgiven.
i am the consequence.