Poetry Blossoms Within

Friendly Fire

They said it was supposed to be safe,
that the people closest to you
would never aim their weapons
in your direction,
that the bonds you built
were stronger than steel,
impervious to the cracks
that time and tension could bring.

But what they didn't tell me
is that sometimes,
the sharpest wounds
come from the hands you trusted most.
Sometimes, the fire
isn't from the enemy across the field—
it's from the one standing
right beside you,
the one who swore
they'd never let you fall.

Friendly fire—
two words that shouldn't exist together,
like trust and betrayal,
like love and pain,
but there they are,
burning through the lines of friendship,
turning allies into adversaries
in the blink of an eye.

You don't see it coming,
because why would you?
Why would you expect the ones
who know your secrets,
who've held your heart,
to be the ones who'd pull the trigger,
who'd watch you bleed
and call it an accident,
call it a mistake?

But I felt it—
the sting,
the burn,
as the words they didn't mean to say
tore through my defenses,
as the actions they didn't think through
left scars I couldn't hide.

They said, "It wasn't supposed to be like this,"
and I wanted to believe them,
wanted to believe that the fire
wasn't meant for me,
that it was just a misfire,
just a moment of weakness
that got out of control.

But the thing about fire
is that it doesn't care
where it lands,
doesn't care who gets burned.
And once the damage is done,
once the bridges are ash,
all that's left is the question—
was it worth it?

Friendly fire—
a phrase that tastes like irony,
that feels like betrayal,
because how can something
so destructive
be called friendly?
How can the hands that held you up
be the same ones
that pushed you down?

But here's the truth—
I'm still standing,
still breathing through the smoke,
because I've learned
that even in the wreckage,
even in the aftermath of trust gone wrong,
there's a strength
that comes from surviving,
a power that comes
from knowing you can rise
even when the fire was aimed
straight at your heart.

So let them call it friendly,
let them say it wasn't meant to be,
because I know now
that my fire
doesn't need to be kind,
doesn't need to be careful.
It just needs to burn bright enough
to light my way
out of the ashes,
to forge a path
where I don't need anyone
to watch my back.

Friendly fire—
it tried to take me down,
but all it did
was teach me
how to be my own shield,
my own fortress,
how to stand tall
in the face of betrayal
and say,
"I'm still here,
and you'll never burn me again."