Strange, this freedom

Feels so foreign,

As if I should’ve

asked for permission.

We stay in jobs too long,

they’re what we know.

We grip tight to fading love,

afraid to let it go.

But once it’s all gone,

we’re left to relearn

what we actually love.

Isn’t that a sign?

A sign we’ve been doing the wrong things?

Holding on to the wrong people?

But then clarity comes

and with it,

power.

It starts when you learn

to simply be with you.

And now,

I’m not just finding my way back.

I’m not retracing old steps,

not patching up the person I used to be.

I’m carving new paths

with bare hands and blistered confidence.

Every scar has earned its place.

Every silence taught me something loud.

Every loss cleared space

for something real to rise.

I won’t carve myself

into bite-sized pieces

just to make others more comfortable.

I won’t ask for permission

anymore.