maybe with time i will get better at this: better at not self-gaslighting. maybe it won't take hours of self-soothing and relying on friends, trader joe's impulse snack buys and binging tv episodes to try to numb the poisonous chattering in my brain.
they grasp for my hands through bars they erected, saccharine smiles break across their face as they apologize for not opening the gates. they gesture to their shackles and shrug. little do they know that they were the ones who built it all; who hold the keys that lock us out; who wrote the rules that they won't name.
i don't want to be resilient. i am squishy and soft. i have not been hardened around the edges. i am bruised and maimed by words you say and don't say (to my face). refusal to forego softness in a world that wants to chisel and berate you into weaponized self-destruction is radical. i am not a soldier.