The Exit Prayer

I didn’t leave with fireworks,

just a grocery bag and my charger

and the quiet feeling

that my lungs wanted a new address.

﹁﹂

The hallway light blinked like it was tired too,

like even the building knew

Something was wrong in there.

﹁﹂

I whispered a prayer I made up on the spot

not pretty, not church-clean,

more like: please, please, please

Let my feet keep moving.

﹁﹂

He called my name the way people call dogs,

sweet voice, sharp intention.

I almost turned around.

That part still embarrasses me.

﹁﹂

Outside, the air was cold and rude,

But honest.

No pretending.

No “I didn’t mean it.”

﹁﹂

I walked past a cracked mirror in the lobby

and didn’t fix my hair,

didn’t try to look lovable,

just looked real.

﹁﹂

My hands shook so hard

My keys sounded like tiny bells,

and it felt holy

that shaking, that refusing.

﹁﹂

I didn’t know where I’d sleep,

only that I wouldn’t shrink tonight.

Some prayers are just exits

with a heartbeat attached.