In My Own Space

In the quiet of my own home
I soften into myself.

No stage,
no borrowed light
just the hush of walls
that know my name.

Fabric slips from my shoulders
like a sigh.
Air traces my skin
without asking permission.

This is where I loosen
not for applause,
not for eyes,
but for the simple pleasure
of inhabiting my own pulse.

My sensuality is not a performance.
It is a stretch after midnight,
bare feet on cool floors,
hair undone,
breath unguarded.

Here, I move
as I please.
Slow.
Certain.
Unapologetic.

And in this ordinary room
I bloom
comfortable,
unfiltered,
entirely mine.

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