He Didn't Show Up, But I Did

I walked today,
not to lose weight or chase a mood—
but to call myself back home.

The gravel did not ask me to perform,
the trees did not remember my shame,
the breeze did not touch me like men once did—
with assumption or appetite.
It simply passed.

I spoke my mantra.
Once.
Twice.
Six times, like a bell tolling in heaven.
My voice cracked on the line:
“My man is coming.”
Because I’ve said that before—
and then cried after he didn’t.

But today was different.

I didn’t whisper it to summon a ghost.
I said it to remind the wind who I am.

Yes, I used to give my body away in cars.
Yes, I used to chase men who mistook me for a joke.
Yes, I used to believe that pain was the price of presence.

But not today.

Today, I walked because the earth knew my name.
Today, I let the sun light up the healed parts.
Today, I remembered I don’t need to see it to believe it—
because I am the evidence.

I asked my mom about my outfit.
She said, “Why are you still stuck on your skin?”
And it hit me—
The prayer’s been answered.
The skin is clear.
The scars are closed.
The shame is old.

So I won’t dwell there anymore.

I am not waiting on a man to find me in the park.
I am meeting myself—
on every step, every breath, every mantra.

And if he comes?
He will not complete me.
He will not rescue me.
He will recognize me.

But even if he doesn’t come today—
I did.

And that’s more than enough.

-The Soft Witness