I’m stepping out for a little while,
Not from the world,
but from the war inside.

I’m tired of loathing
this skin I live in—
the mirror, a battlefield,
my thoughts, unkind.

I’m tired of chasing
versions of me
that only exist
in the eyes of others.

Tired of shrinking
beneath regrets,
of picking scabs
from wounds long closed.

My mind is a room
with no windows lately,
filled with echoes
of not enough.

So I’m leaving the door ajar—
not slamming it,
just slipping out
for air.

I need to remember silence
that doesn’t scream.
Stillness
that doesn’t ache.

I’ll be back
when I can hold myself
without flinching,
when I can sit with my fears
and not let them speak over me.

This isn’t quitting.
It’s healing.
It’s choosing peace
before I forget how it feels.