night

And then these quiet nights lone stars dark skies they do not ask me who I am becoming. They do not ask me to provide to stay to soften my voice to bury my rage to explain my silence They do not want me to see for them to carry for them to bleed for love and still stand polite. No The nights know me without my armour Armour made of hardness coldness kindness rehearsed too many times and smiles stitched over exhausted bones. Under these skies I am allowed to loosen my fists To breathe like a wounded animal that finally reached water And maybe that is love Not hands that hold too tight not voices asking me to become softer better, easier to keep but the dark itself sitting beside me without demands The nights love me strangely They ask me for love but never for performance. Never for manners. Never for masks. They let me exist