One of Us Has To Die

So much to say,

and nobody willing to listen.

So I learned to make something

out of being unheard.

I turned my pain into passion,

my wounds into words,

my hurt into currency.

If suffering insists on living in my house,

then it will pay rent.

This life is not too much for me.

How could it be,

when I am a creator of life?

I have watched things grow

from places inside me

that once felt empty.

The fruits of my labor

hang heavy from branches

I planted with shaking hands.

I give birth to my desires.

I pull dreams from darkness

and teach them how to breathe.

Who can do that but me?

Every part of me is magic.

Even the parts I hate.

Even the parts that ache.

Even the parts I buried

because someone convinced me

they were too ugly to be seen.

My sadness is a portal,

and every tear

pushes me deeper through it.

And on the other side

is me.

Not a different woman.

Me.

The woman I keep abandoning

to make everyone else comfortable.

The woman who has been waiting

for me to finally choose her.

I know now what I must do.

I must choose my fate.

Not tomorrow.

Not when it hurts less.

Not when everyone understands.

Now.

Because I cannot live in both worlds.

I cannot keep one foot

inside the life that is killing me

and stretch the other

toward the life calling my name.

One world must burn.

Parts of me must die

so the rest of me

can finally live.

The woman who survives by silence.

The woman who swallows her truth

until it becomes a stone in her throat.

The woman who mistakes endurance

for love.

The woman who shrinks herself

so others never have to feel

the weight of her existence.

Someone has to die here.

But who?

Who will I bury?

And who will I allow to live?

The choice is mine.

It has always been mine.

Behind me

is pain,

confusion,

hurt.

A life where I am silenced,

shamed,

embarrassed,

and taught to apologize

for bleeding from wounds

I did not give myself.

Behind me

is the version of me

who learned how to survive

in rooms where she could not breathe.

I love her.

I understand her.

But I cannot take her with me.

In front of me

is freedom.

And freedom is not free.

It costs comfort.

It costs familiarity.

It costs the lies

I told myself

just to make staying hurt less.

It may cost people

who only loved me

when I was quiet.

It may cost the life

I once begged to keep.

But if I want freedom,

I must pay for it

with truth.

I must live where the light

can find me.

I must stop calling darkness home

just because my eyes

have adjusted to it.

So tonight,

I stand between two lives

with fire in one hand

and my future in the other.

Something has to burn.

Something has to live.

And for once,

I choose

what lives.

Me.