Thriving Without Your Toxicity

I used to breathe in your air,
thick with venom, heavy with doubt,
a sky so choked in storm clouds
that I forgot what light looked like.

You made yourself gravity,
a weight I carried without question,
a chain disguised as something else,
as if love should ever feel that tight around the throat.

But then—
I walked away.
Not with a scream, not with a war,
but with a quiet step toward the door
and a heart that refused to break one moment longer.

And now—oh, now,
the air is clear, the sky is wide,
and my world is so much bigger without you in it.
I rise without hands pulling me down,
I run without stumbling over your obstacles,
I thrive in the space you swore I would never find.

You said I would fail.
You whispered it like prophecy,
willed it with every bitter breath,
convinced yourself that I could not bloom
if I was not planted in your poisoned soil.

But here I stand,
roots deep, branches high,
flourishing in ways you could never fathom.
Every success, every joy,
every golden morning untouched by your shadow—
it is proof. It is justice. It is freedom.

I did not just survive you.
I did not just escape.
I became something greater than you ever imagined.

And that?
That is a victory you will never steal.