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Does it hurt

when someone pulls your hair?

Of course it does.

Pain doesn’t need permission.

But when they start pulling my legs…

That’s fine.

I’ve learned

gravity is sometimes a ladder.

If humiliation is their shortcut,

don’t rush.

I know the route.

I’ve walked it barefoot.

I can push myself down

with better accuracy.

And still,

I know people

who can lift me back

without asking

why I fell.

No matter how hard they tackle,

no matter how dirty the field,

I keep the ball close.

I don’t look at the crowd.

I don’t explain the rules.

I dribble

my life

forward.

Until something solid

finally stops me.

Don’t confuse silence

for weakness.

Snatching me from myself

takes stamina.

My heart doesn’t slip.

My mind doesn’t fold.

But understand this

If you pull too long,

too hard,

too often…

I don’t break.

I change.

Not the movie kind of crazy.

No white coats.

No dramatic music.

Just the quiet kind

that stops caring

about pleasing you.

I collect moments.

Some taste sweet.

Some stay bitter.

I don’t separate them anymore.

I scatter them like rice

for pigeons.

They eat.

They leave.

That’s the agreement.

When they come back,

I don’t count faces.

I don’t track wings.

I don’t ask

who deserved what.

My kindness is not a strategy.

It’s a condition.

Their happiness matters.

Even when they don’t know

what to do with it.

I don’t study birds.

But people?

People return

wearing new masks,

testing reflections,

hoping one fits.

Some never plan

to be seen.

Still,

Let one soul

recognize another.

Even the selfish ones.

At least

they’re selling fish.

They just refuse

to teach

anyone

how to fish.