The Unlearning

I’m unlearning rules I never agreed to,

but lived by like rent.

Don’t be too much.

Don’t need too much.

Don’t make a scene.

Smile, or at least look grateful.

﹁﹂

Those rules bruised my spirit

in places no one could point to,

a soft ache behind the ribs

That made me apologize

for existing in a room.

﹁﹂

Unlearning looks like this:

pausing before I say “sorry,”

letting the word sit there

and realizing it has nowhere to go.

﹁﹂

It’s deleting a draft message

That explains my feelings

as if they’re a court case.

﹁﹂

It’s buying the loud earrings

and wearing them on a boring Tuesday

just because I like them,

because I can,

because joy shouldn’t need permission.

﹁﹂

Some habits fight back.

My throat tightens.

My stomach acts like I stole something

When I ask for what I want.

﹁﹂

But the new rule is simple:

if it costs me my peace,

It is too expensive.

﹁﹂

I do not have it all figured out.

I still catch myself shrinking

in old familiar corners.

﹁﹂

Still—every time I stand up straighter,

a little bruise fades,

and something in me

finally gets to breathe.