Swipe Left On Perfection

She Is Safe Now

FOR THE GIRL WHO DID THE WORK

She was there the whole time

the small one,

watching from somewhere behind my ribs,

waiting to see

if this time someone would stay.

SHE HAD BEEN WAITING A LONG TIME

Once upon a time, a lover handed me a map

and called my attempts flawed.

Pointed at the parts of me that felt too much,

saw too clearly,

needed words to mean what they said

and called it damage.

I followed the map anyway.

All the way to myself.

That morning, I wrote a letter

to a wound that had no name yet.

Named what a man did to me in daylight without my consent.

Sent it whether it was read or not.

It was read.

Then I got dressed

and went to close another door.

The original wound from a year ago.

THE WHOLE DAY WAS AN ACT OF BECOMING

He protected his image

the entire conversation

the kindness performed,

the hug offered like a verdict,

the confession nobody asked for

falling from his own pocket

onto the floor between us.

I left it there.

I saved him anyway by allowing this performance.

That’s just who I am.

He was the catalyst.

Not the teacher. HE was the friction.

The match that didn’t know

what it was lighting.

He saw only as far as the surface of me

and missed everything underneath.

That’s on his capacity.

His character.

His loss. A Mismatch.

My voice shook in that room.

Not from him.

from all that sound,

all that light,

all that living pressing in at once

while I did the hardest quiet thing.

I paused. I regulated. I stayed.

A YEAR OF WORK IN ONE CONVERSATION

Later the groups drifted together

naturally, without drama,

and I closed my eyes

and felt the bass move through me

and I was not tracking him,

not managing anything,

not performing healed,

just alive in the room with everyone.

And somewhere behind my ribs

the small one exhaled.

She had watched me do all of it:

the letter, the concert, the grace,

the shaky voice, the closed eyes,

the skipping away.

and she felt safe.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME

I got everything I came for.
Not the love I went looking for.
Better.

The kind that stays.
The kind that writes the letter at dawn
and dances with its eyes closed by midnight.
The kind that skips away from closed chapters
and means it.

I am okay.
I am whole.
I am mine.

And she:
that small one.
She is finally, finally safe.

THE WORK IS DONE  ·  SHE IS PROTECTED  ·