Unplugged

Here, there is no audience. Here, the silence is a symphony. I watch the light fall unbranded through my window, and no one is counting.

They are selling their lives like second-hand shoes,

polished just enough to look new.

Every sunrise becomes a product,

every soft moment rinsed and wrung for likes –

the breathless sprint to nowhere.

I walked away from the marketplace of faces.

Left behind their smiles

that look like billboards

and their hearts cracked open like egg shells

to spill something digestible.

Here, there is no audience.

Here, the silence is a symphony.

I watch the light fall unbranded through my window,

and no one is counting.

My thoughts stretch their legs

like dogs let off the leash.

Freedom tastes like not knowing what you’re missing.

Like choosing a corner of the world

that isn’t curated.

Where a tree is still a tree.

Where I am still a woman—

unperformed and unpurchased.

Let them chase the illusion,

the currency of attention.

I have burned my receipts.