the intelligence of my insanity

i have carried
many names
some spoken gently
some spoken like warnings

i have lived
on the edge of sense
where the ground didn’t promise
what it used to
and silence became
a wiser language
than certainty

my body was the first prophet
it wept before i knew
what i was grieving
broke
before i knew
what i was breaking free from

they said: breakdown
i heard: break open

i mistook urgency for safety
i dressed adaptation as normal
i performed coherence
like it might bring me home

but deep in the folds
of confusion
was a quiet intelligence
braiding me back to myself

it was never madness
only the wisdom of what could
no longer be suppressed

the roles cracked
the mask slipped
the heart spoke
in a dialect
i had forgotten i knew

this is not a confession
and it is not revenge
this is a map made of myth
a mirror offered sideways
a story told
in the language of those
who needed
to stay alive
in beautiful, strange ways

not everything is mine to explain
but what is mine
i will name

this is how i begin.