They mistook
my silence
for surrender.
It wasn’t.
It was exhaustion.
There comes a point
when you’ve repeated
your truth
so many times
that you stop speaking
for the people
who refuse to hear it.
I wasn’t calm
because I felt safe.
I was calm
because panic
had become
too expensive.
I had children
to raise.
Court dates
to remember.
Tiny clothes
to fold.
A future
to protect.
I couldn’t spend
every piece of myself
trying to convince someone
that fire burns.
So I stopped.
Not because
the flames disappeared—
because I finally
walked away from them.
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