Charge

Two-fifteen on a Tuesday

and the confirmation came—

a red X next to the name,

and with it, shame.

I'd clicked with relief,

thinking: good, stop this theft,

stop the monthly grief

of a charge I left.

But the email landed different,

cracked something inside,

showed me how I went silent

when I tried to hide.

No active subscription.

Words formal and cold.

I'd let this conviction

go, but it won't fold.

I could start something new—

there are services galore.

But I sit with what's true:

I'm mourning what's no more.

Eight ninety-nine a month

I'll save, I'll be clean,

but the confirmation's hunch

has ruined me.

The next charge will not appear.

I will not feel that small guilt.

Instead I'll feel the shear

of something I built.