I was trained silence, I was laughter by demand,
a measured step taken to keep the blast at bay.
But in the mirror I saw the unedited scene:
my eyes begging for help in their own expression.
I made a home out of guilt, a prison out of haste,
carried other people’s weight as if it were my fate.
Until the night grew tired of holding up my ground,
and I understood: freedom is also a choice.
And when I said “enough,” it wasn’t anger, it was light
it was me coming back whole, without asking permission.
The door made noise, but it was only the ending:
who is born to be fire will not accept being coal.
I return to my name, my pulse, my tone.
No one erases me now—I light my own beacon.
If the world shuts its face, I open my lungs:
I am my own home, I am my own salvation.
I learned something no one ever hands you ready:
peace isn’t a prize—it’s practice, it’s rebuilding.
And love that’s real never asks for amputation;
it adds to your life, it doesn’t demand surrender.
Today I walk lightly, but not out of denial
it’s because I saw the abyss and chose a direction.
If they try to bend me, I become affirmation.
If they try to silence me, I become a song.
