I take off my bracelets
sixty tiny memories hitting the floor like rain.
Three days later,
I put them back on,
as if the weight of them
could hold me steady,
as if metal could teach me permanence.

I cut my hair.
Let the extensions go.
Locks resting soft, just under my neck.
But then I see someone with hair down to her waist,
and my hands itch
to reach back,
to rewind,
to be long again.

Why can’t something ever be… enough?

Some days, I only love myself
when I am clean,
when my clothes fall just right,
when the mirror decides to be kind.
And some days,
I only love people
when they look like the aesthetic
my circle won’t laugh at.
Ashamed of a heart
because its skin,
its shoes,
its vibe
isn’t “Pinterest-perfect.”

How can we think like this
and still call it love?

But I’m learning
Freedom is not in the bracelets.
Not in the hair.
Not in the mirror,
the clothes,
or the crowd’s approval.

Freedom is when I let myself be.
Freedom is when I let you be.
Freedom is the moment I stop chasing “right,”
and start living “real.”

Because enough…
enough was never out there.
Enough has always been in here.