Poem: Break Free

Chains don’t always clang—
sometimes they whisper,
soft as doubt
curling behind your ribs.

You wore them so long
they learned your shape,
called themselves comfort,
called themselves you.

But something in you—
a flicker, stubborn and bright—
kept asking questions
in the dark:

What if the sky is closer
than they said?
What if fear is only a door
untried?

So you pressed—
first with trembling hands,
then with a quiet rage
that grew teeth.

The lock didn’t shatter.
It yielded.

And the sound—
not thunder, not triumph—
just a breath
you didn’t know you were holding
finally released.

Outside, the air
didn’t crown you,
didn’t sing your name.

It simply made space.

And for the first time,
you stepped forward
not as something escaping—
but as something
becoming.

Thank-you for reading,

Brenda Marie