Hi,
I thought I'd share something a little different today. In the midst of all the chaos recently I haven’t had much of a chance to write properly. This is wrote on the school run, palms sweating, heart racing, walking to school.
When the Door Opens
I am only walking.
That is all.
Just walking.
Past houses.
Past gates.
Past parked cars.
Past men who do not know
they have become weather in my body.
Then a door opens.
And before I even turn my head
my mind has already run ahead of me—
Did they see me?
Are they coming out?
Is this it?
Is today the day I become a headline,
a warning,
a name said softly by strangers?
I am only walking.
But every person I pass
arrives carrying possibilities.
Not who they are—
what they could do.
Hands become weapons.
Voices become danger.
Footsteps become pursuit.
I scan faces, exits, shadows,
measure distance between me and safety,
count fences I could climb,
doors I could bang on,
roads I could cross.
If they pull a knife—
what do I do?
If they shout—
what do I do?
If they grab—
what do I do?
If they choose me—
what do I do?
In my head
I know exactly how to survive.
I am fierce there.
Fast there.
Clever there.
I say the right things,
run the right way,
fight at the perfect moment.
But fear knows the truth.
When it happens,
the body arrives first.
Burning.
Shaking.
Breath torn open.
Legs forgetting how to be legs.
Hands becoming strangers.
No script survives panic.
And that is the cruelty of it—
I rehearse disasters
for crimes not yet committed,
train for fires
that may never come,
carry alarms in my ribs
just to buy milk,
do the school run,
walk home in daylight.
They call it overthinking.
But women know better.
It is history in the bloodstream.
It is names we remember.
It is keys between fingers.
It is texts sent saying
“Nearly home.”
It is the door opening
and my whole body hearing gunfire.
I am only walking.
Yet nowhere feels ordinary
when safety is something
other people forget exists.
Thank you for allowing me this space to breath. And let me know any thoughts on these feelings.
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