I Don't Owe The World Any

I’m not chasing bliss.

That’s a fool’s wind..

always shifting,

always demanding something I didn’t agree to lose.

I just want the kind of peace

that doesn’t flinch when the door slams.

The kind that sits in my chest

like a stone warmed by late sun.

I’m not healed.

But I wake up,

drink my water,

pull my cardigan on slow,

and move through the day

like someone who has decided

not to let this world crack her open again.

There are days I want to scream,

but instead,

I dig my hands into flour or soil

and make something rise.

That’s power too..

not the shouting,

but the choosing.

I take my peace in sips..

morning strawberries cold from the fridge,

the steam of rice just off the stove,

the way my cat curls up against my side

without asking who I had to forgive to make it this far.

I am not fragile.

I’m just quiet in my strength.

There’s a difference.

Some people call that cold.

I call it survival.

I walk past broken fences and familiar corners

that once knew my shaking hands,

and now they know my steady ones.

I don’t light candles.

I don’t chant.

I don’t pretend to summon what doesn’t belong to me.

But I do listen..

to how the wind moves through the blinds,

to the way my breath tells the truth

before my mouth does.

I am not performing calm.

I earned it.

And on the days I don’t feel it,

I hold still anyway...

let the ache pass like rain through gravel,

let it soak whatever it must,

and then get back to doing my dishes.

Because peace isn’t a mountaintop.

It’s that quiet hum in my chest

when I remember

I don’t owe the world my smiles.

Only my truth.