The What Ifs

What if I tore up the map - not gentle, but ruthless, ripping until the roads bled white, and let my feet kiss the dirt like they were born to wander? What if I spit out the words I’ve swallowed for years, each syllable a blade, carving silence into something that finally screams back? What if I let the darkness in- not as a foe, but a lover, its black hands pressed to my chest, whispering truths the light was too cowardly to hold? What if I stayed in the fire - let the flames peel me raw, until I rose, ember-eyed and grinning, no ash left to bury me, only the bones of someone new? What if I dared the edge, made falling an act of rebellion, an art form, gravity nothing but a jealous god I refused to kneel to? The what ifs are wolves, pacing the dark of my mind, teeth bared, breath hot - and I let them feast, because this is my hunger, my rebellion, my reckoning. And what if I stopped asking? What if I grinned with bloodied lips, spat in the eye of silence, and did the thing they swore I couldn’t survive?