First Dismantle

I am done being the infrastructure to someone else's neglect.

.............

I am done being the quiet bridge

they cross without looking down,

the load-bearing beam

holding up a life that refuses to notice

the cracks in my ribs.

.............

I have been the road salted with my own tears,

the power grid that stays on during storms,

the soft place to land for hands

that never learned how to hold gently.

..............

I swallowed apologies that weren't mine.

I learned how to be useful instead of loved.

I mistook endurance for loyalty,

mistook silence for strength,

mistook being needed for being chosen.

.............

I bent until my mind learned new languages—

the grammar of compromise,

the punctuation of "it's fine,"

the run-on sentence of staying

when I should have ended the thought.

..............

I have been maintenance.

I have been background.

I have been the miracle of "still here"

with no witnesses.

.............

But hear this—

I am no longer a system designed to survive

someone else's carelessness.

I am no longer public property,

no longer a resource to be extracted

until there is nothing left but gratitude

and dust.

.............

I am reclaiming my labour.

I am taking my hands back from the wreckage.

I am choosing rest without guilt,

boundaries without footnotes,

love that does not require collapse

to be earned.

..............

I am not the structure anymore.

I am the architect.

And this time,

I am building a life

that holds me.