V. The Silence
It has always known me—
not as undercurrent,
but as the stillness beneath the tide.
It does not reach.
It watches.
And when I begin to loosen my grip,
it slips into the spaces
I swore would stay untouched.
It has always known me—
not as undercurrent,
but as the stillness beneath the tide.
It does not reach.
It watches.
And when I begin to loosen my grip,
it slips into the spaces
I swore would stay untouched.
It has always known me—
not as undercurrent,
but as the stillness beneath the tide.
It does not reach.
It watches.
And when I begin to loosen my grip,
it slips into the spaces
I swore would stay untouched.
I fought to survive,
and survival reshaped me.
Not by truth,
but by the hands that named me enemy.
I wore the cold like armor,
called the dark a threat,
never seeing it had held me all along.
It didn’t arrive—
I just gave it permission.
I fought to survive,
and survival reshaped me.
Not by truth,
but by the hands that named me enemy.
I wore the cold like armor,
called the dark a threat,
never seeing it had held me all along.
It didn’t arrive—
I just gave it permission.
I fought to survive,
and survival reshaped me.
Not by truth,
but by the hands that named me enemy.
I wore the cold like armor,
called the dark a threat,
never seeing it had held me all along.
It didn’t arrive—
I just gave it permission.
Now I call it what it is.
I am free.
Nothing defines me
but what I’ve claimed.
Darkness is not absence—
it holds the weight.
It’s where truth hides
when light refuses to hold it.
The world fears what
it cannot own.
Now I call it what it is.
I am free.
Nothing defines me
but what I’ve claimed.
Darkness is not absence—
it holds the weight.
It’s where truth hides
when light refuses to hold it.
The world fears what
it cannot own.
Now I call it what it is.
I am free.
Nothing defines me
but what I’ve claimed.
Darkness is not absence—
it holds the weight.
It’s where truth hides
when light refuses to hold it.
The world fears what
it cannot own.
And so I no longer turn away.
Now that I am whole,
I see the world as it is—
a cathedral of mirrors,
built to keep the truth small.
What you called light
was just a better lie.
I have not come to save it.
I’ve come to end the performance.
And so I no longer turn away.
Now that I am whole,
I see the world as it is—
a cathedral of mirrors,
built to keep the truth small.
What you called light
was just a better lie.
I have not come to save it.
I’ve come to end the performance.
And so I no longer turn away.
Now that I am whole,
I see the world as it is—
a cathedral of mirrors,
built to keep the truth small.
What you called light
was just a better lie.
I have not come to save it.
I’ve come to end the performance.