You keep pointing
to the same word

as if it means something clean.

As if it hasn’t already
been used once
to take what it wanted.

You say it like a principle.

Like something being taken
from you.

But I remember
what it looked like
when it was still yours.

How easily it moved
without regard
for anything it touched.

How quiet it was
afterward.

Now you hold it up again
asking for it back
as proof of something
that does not exist yet.

As if returning to the same ground
won’t open
in the same places.

I am supposed to call that trust.

To stand there
and watch the same door
left open

and believe
this time
it will close differently.

You call it control.

The loss of something
you think belongs to you.

But what you are asking for
is not freedom.

It is the same access
that broke it

reframed
as something you deserve to keep.

And I am left here
holding what remains

refusing
to hand it back

just so you can prove

you won’t do again
what you already did
without hesitation.