Gentle Power Returns

I used to call myself selfish

Every time I said no,

Like boundaries were borrowed things

I’d eventually have to return.

❧

I apologized for existing

by scooting to the edge of the couch,

laughing softer than the joke deserved,

answering calls at 2 a.m.

because “you’re the only one who gets me.”

❧

My body started whispering protests—

headaches like fire alarms,

a chest that clenched when my phone lit up.

❧

I thought love meant carrying

everyone’s grocery bags of grief

while my own arms shook,

smiling like it didn’t ache.

❧

This morning I watered my plants

before I opened any messages.

I made breakfast and actually sat down

Instead of eating over the sink.

❧

I typed “I can’t today”

and didn’t send a follow-up essay.

❧

It felt like treason

and also like sunlight

sneaking back into a locked room.

❧

Maybe this is all power is—

not thunder, not applause,

just a quiet hand on my own shoulder

saying, We choose us first this time.