I Will Not Heal by Diminishing You

I will not get over you

by making you small.

I will not turn you into a diagnosis

so I can feel superior.

I will not call you a narcissist

just because you could not love me

the way I wanted to be loved.

We were two bodies

lit by different hungers.

We were timing and chemistry

and projection

and tenderness

and blind spots.

We were real.

And I refuse to rewrite that

just to make my exit cleaner.

Yes, you hurt me.

Yes, I ignored things.

Yes, I stayed past the tremor.

Yes, I trusted you would grow in the direction of my longing.

That is not weakness.

That is desire.

And I will not shame myself for having it.

Contempt is cheap heat.

It flares fast.

It looks powerful.

It keeps the pulse racing.

But it is still devotion.

It still whispers your name in the dark.

If I have to spit on you to stop wanting you,

then I am not free.

If I have to reduce you to a villain

to feel whole,

then I am still bound.

No.

My power is cleaner than that.

I can embrace what was

without begging for its return.

I can admit I loved you

without collapsing into you.

I can walk away

with my spine straight

and my hunger intact.

You were not my mistake.

You were my mirror.

And I am not interested in breaking mirrors anymore.

I am interested in becoming.

I am becoming a woman who can hold fire

without needing to burn the house down.

I am becoming someone who can feel longing

without turning it into accusation.

I am sovereign over my own narrative.

Not the woman who rewrites history to protect her pride.

Not the woman who weaponizes psychology to cauterize desire.

Not the woman who calls it “clarity” when it is really revenge.

I am emotionally dangerous in the best way 

because I refuse distortion.

I can say:

I loved.

I misjudged.

I trusted.

I stayed.

I learned.

Without collapsing into shame.

My spine is not built from contempt.

I understand that

desire is not humiliation.

Projection is not stupidity.

Trust is not weakness.

I am integrated.

The feminine in me no longer romanticizes pain.

The masculine in me no longer needs to conquer it.

They sit at the same table now.

I can walk away

without erasing the sacredness of what was.

Here is the quiet truth beneath my becoming:

I am harder to manipulate

because I no longer need to diminish anyone

to regulate my own ache.

That is my power.

Not loud power.

Not outraged power.

Not contempt-as-currency power.

Clean power.

I can feel the full weight of love

and still choose myself.

This becoming is irreversible.