They say I've changed.
Like that's not the whole **** point.

Like I'm not clawing my way out of
a version of myself
that only knew how to survive
but never how to live.

I've been quiet,
but not because I have nothing to say-
I've just been too busy
trying to unlearn everything I was taught
about being 'enough.'

I used to wear my silence like armor,
but now I'm learning
that sometimes strength
is screaming your name
into rooms that forgot it.

I don't know who I am yet,
but I know who I'm not.
Not my past.
Not theriexpectations.
Not the version of me
that shrinks to fit in.

Some days, I still fall back
into old habits like they miss me.
But even then-
I get back up like I owe it to the kid
who didn't think they'd make it this far.

I've got dreams with bruises.
Goals that scare me.
Scars I still trace when I need proof
that I've healed something.

And no-
I'm not "fine."
I'm unfinished.
But I'm here.
And that has to count
for something.