To the cage I’ve lived in:

​I’m done being the "responsible one." I’m done being the woman who holds it all together while the world falls apart around her.

For seven years, I was a sanctuary; for one year, I was a fortress. Now, I just want to be a fire.

​I feel the need to be reckless. I want to do something that isn't "healing." I want to do something that isn't "productive." I want to move without a map and act without a "why." I want to drown out the second-guessing with the sound of my own pulse.

​I’ve spent a lifetime being trustworthy and steady, and look where it left me— standing in an empty house with a ghost for a shadow. So, let the "cold attitude" turn into a wild one. Let the "loyal" girl take the night off. I want to feel the wind on my face without wondering if I’m heading in the right direction.

​I’m not looking for a "fix" or a "pen pal" or a "home." I’m looking for the edge. I want to remember what it feels like to belong to nothing and no one but the immediate, buzzing second I’m standing in.

​If the world thinks I’m broken, let them watch me burn bright instead. I am taking my life back, not with a gentle step, but with a leap into the dark.