You recognize these careful cuts:
The way they gifted you your doubts,
how every "No, don't, stay right here."
became the bars you learned to fear.

Oh, the ache of being shaped—
each "for your own good" a landscape
of could-have-beens
and phantom wings
and all the songs
you choked to sing.

You see it in the mirror's glare:
The ghost of who was almost there.
You feel it when the sky looks bright—
that old, familiar fright.

And when you try to speak your mind,
their voices loop like twisted vines:
"Who are you to want the sun?
After all that we've done?"

But here's the wound they can't erase:
That anger warming up your veins.
That hunger sharp behind your teeth.
That name you whisper underneath.

It isn't pretty. Isn't kind.
But oh—
it's yours.
This time.

#shortpoetry

《 Nyx Thinks 》

You recognize these careful cuts:
The way they gifted you your doubts,
how every "No, don't, stay right here."
became the bars you learned to fear.

Oh, the ache of being shaped—
each "for your own good" a landscape
of could-have-beens
and phantom wings
and all the songs
you choked to sing.

You see it in the mirror's glare:
The ghost of who was almost there.
You feel it when the sky looks bright—
that old, familiar fright.

And when you try to speak your mind,
their voices loop like twisted vines:
"Who are you to want the sun?
After all that we've done?"

But here's the wound they can't erase:
That anger warming up your veins.
That hunger sharp behind your teeth.
That name you whisper underneath.

It isn't pretty. Isn't kind.
But oh—
it's yours.
This time.

#shortpoetry

hottg.com/Nyx_thinks/648

496 viewsJun 11 at 00:15