When they took my heart
they left me this shyness;
thin as smoke,
with nowhere to rise.
It was the veil I kept for you,
that soft hesitation before a touch,
the pause
that made my hands tremble.
Now it sits in my chest
like a locked door
in an abandoned house.
There is no point
in guarding an empty room.
So I carried my modesty to the market,
laid it out
between the cracked mirrors
and bitter stones.
I watched thieves haggle
over the part of me
that used to blush
at your name.
I bartered that shame
for a little warmth.
I traded my silence
for the strength to leave.
By the time I walked away
my face felt cold,
strange to me;
as if I had pawned my reflection too.
But at least I was lighter.
At least I was empty.
There is no sense in being shy
when there is nothing left
to hold.
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 1:19 AM UTC