Between Bruises & Blooms

I didn't leave
through the front door.

Front doors
are for people
who feel safe enough
to say goodbye.

I left
through glass
and gravity.

One leg over
the windowsill.

One last breath.

One impossible choice.

People ask
when I decided
to leave.

As if it happened
the day
I packed my things.

No.

I decided
the moment
the ground
looked safer
than the room
I was standing in.

The bruises
covered my legs
for weeks.

People saw
purple
and yellow.

I saw
proof

that survival
sometimes
looks like
jumping

before you're certain
you'll land.