Not Your Container

I am not

the jar

you pour your trembling into.

Do not mistake

my silence

for agreement.

I give you the floor—

polished,

open,

wide as an auditorium

before a pep rally.

But I do not cheer there.

You speak

in borrowed thunder,

call it concern,

call it

just asking for a friend.

But I can smell fear

when it tries to dress itself

as logic.

Your what-ifs

hover like gnats.

Your limits

reach for my shoulders

like a coat

two sizes too small.

No.

What you fear

is not mine

to inherit.

What you imagine

is not mine

to perform.

I am not

a storage unit

for your unfinished healing.

I am not a trend

to be studied,

predicted,

or softened

into something convenient.

My reactions

are not algorithms.

My follow-through

is not a social experiment.

My life

is not a group project.

I listen

because I am disciplined.

I pause

because I am powerful.

But agreement—

that is sacred.

And I do not lease

my spirit

to projections.

If you tremble,

tremble honestly.

But do not hand me

your shaking

and call it love.