My Raw Unscripted Life

My body was never broken;
she was a loyal, rhythmic drum
beating out a truth not yet named
she functioned as designed.

We were simply out of alignment,
the soul and the skin in a dance
waiting for a safety
that was never given a chance.

It was never a flaw of mechanics,
nor a lack of trying hard.
You cannot force a flowering
in a soil so cold and scarred.
She required a holy presence,
the warmth of being known,
to be seen while being felt,
not a pillar standing alone.

But with you, I was an archive.
I wore your history like a shroud,
carrying the grief of ghosts
we never spoke about out loud.
The weight of every “us” and “them”
lay heavy at my feet;
I was the anchor in a storm
I wasn’t meant to meet.

I learned the art of the override:
Stay steady. Stay functional. Stay small.
I built a cage of “fine enough”
to ensure I wouldn’t fall.
But surrender is not survival,
and containment is not being free;
I turned myself into a vessel
for all the space you chose to take.

That was never a malfunction,
to choose connection without collapse,
intimacy without release.
But an intelligence that kept me whole
a guardian of my inner peace.