THIS ISN'T PEACE
for when the silence isn’t silence
I’m not yearning today.
But I’m not okay.
I’m sitting in this stillness that doesn’t feel still
like the air forgot how to breathe too.
I say I’m at peace,
but it doesn’t rest inside me.
It stares at me.
Quiet. Heavy. Almost kind.
I’m scared of falling.
Because when I fall, I lose everything.
And getting back up?
That’s the part that eats me.
But I keep restarting.
Like clockwork. Like madness.
It’s been a month.
I called it control, but it’s closer to surrender.
Addiction wearing perfume .
Is it my fault?
Is it you?
I don’t know.
I stopped praying out loud.
Now I joke when I say “I pray.”
I think I still do.
I cover my wounds in lip gloss and laughter.
Did you see them?
Did you laugh with me?
Or at me?
Some days, I feel beautiful.
Most days now.
Thank God.
But beauty doesn’t always mean I’m healing.
I love talking about you.
But today isn’t about you.
It’s about this peace that doesn’t feel earned,
this breath that feels borrowed.
Is this the end?
No.
It’s the middle.
The aching middle where stillness hums
and something inside you whispers,
“Keep going.
Even if you’re only crawling.”
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