I wake in the thin light
where shadows still remember my name.
They rise—quiet, familiar—
the old demons I fed
with doubt, with silence,
with every apology I never owed.
Today
I do not shrink.
I breathe,
and the breath is a blade.
I speak,
and the sound becomes a torch.
One by one
they tilt their heads,
unlearning the shape of me.
I step forward,
soft-footed, steady,
and slay the ones that whisper
I am not enough—
let them fall into dust
that nourishes nothing.
What remains
is my pulse—
raw, unarmored,
undefeated—
a small bright animal
learning again
to walk in daylight.
Therapy Bits 
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