What if Acceptance were an anagram of Freedom?
Would my door be open to let out
and to find where the blow has hurt?
I would be willing to sweep away the dust of the broken,
even if it was still floating in the air.
You know when you remember a version of yourself that you don't recognize to this day?
I've spent so much time accepting that you cut off my
freedom that I struggle to release the acceptance inside me.
It doesn't make sense,
but practically nothing in the last year has.
Like dust in a closed room levitating.
Reminding me that I'm here, that I'm still alive, with
values that I carry as a flag but that I must stitch together so that no one
gets hurt.