Dream to be weak

One day,
I will loosen my grip
on the mask I mistook for skin,
peel it back gently
and feel my face again.

I have ridden too long
on two wheels and borrowed fury,
too fast for traction to argue,
too reckless for the road to correct me.
Speed felt like freedom.
Distance felt like power.

But I will drop the act of being mean
like a coin I no longer need.
Not apologies.
Not explanations.
Just tears
the wind can carry without judgment.

And when I finally stop performing strength,
the rigid spine, the jaw set against wanting,
I will rest my head and stay there.
I was meant to fall
and stay down long enough
to feel the ground forgive me.