She walks in like her name already knows the room.
Not loud, not desperate,
but steady
like she’s got oceans in her chest and learned how to swim in all of them.

See, she’s mastered the art of letting them be.
Your storm? Yours to weather.
Your silence? Yours to hold.
She’ll still greet the sun, still sweep her space clean,
still cook joy into her own plate.

She’s not in the business of dimming her light
just because someone forgot how to shine.
Not in the business of folding herself small
to fit into someone’s unmade plans.

Her kindness is a choice
and don’t get it twisted,
it’s not because she’s weak,
it’s because she knows her peace
is the most expensive thing she owns.

So she wears it.
Every day.
Like armor you can’t see,
like poetry you can’t break.