Cleaning Up My Aura

Cleaning Up My Aura

I binned the lies they left in me,

scraped off their names like rust.

Not chasing peace or balance now,

just clearing out the dust.

No sage or salt, just bin bags full

of stories that don’t fit.

I burned the script they handed me,

then walked away from it.

They called me wreckage, dead-end road,

a weight too big to bear.

I let them talk—I changed my locks

and left them standing there.

My aura’s not some glowing ring,

it’s silence after war.

It’s breathing through a clenched-up jaw

then kicking down the door.

They told me to be softer, small,

to take up half the space.

I stared them down, stood up full height,

then wiped them from my face.

I cleaned it all, the grit, the smear,

the guilt they tried to sell.

My aura’s clean, not pure or bright.

just mine, and mean as hell tonight.