The Air Up Here
I breathe better now—
funny, isn’t it?
How silence tastes like honey
when it used to taste like fear.
You thought you were punishing me
by leaving.
But you were the weight in my lungs,
the hands on my throat,
the noise in my brain
that never let the world go still.
Now, it’s still.
It’s beautiful.
The air is clean.
My days unfold like lavender
and late-afternoon peace.
No more coercion masked as care.
No more chaos wrapped in blood.
You erased yourself
and called it justice.
I call it freedom.
I’m thriving.
Growing gardens you never visited.
Writing chapters you’ll never read.
Loving with a heart
that no longer winces
at the sound of your name.
It’s cute, really—
how you still beg for entry
to the life you once dismantled.
How you believe your absence
is a weapon
instead of the gift
I tuck myself into each night.
I won.
But not the way you think.
Not with rage.
With peace.
With laughter.
With breath.
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