The Sentinel

When the tune of your song, 

got locked away by pointlessly abrasive men. 

I took watch. 

I built the fortress. 

I turned your stomach to lead. 

I kept you awake, bone-tired, 

listening to the dark. 

When the fridge door clicked— 

the seal breaking, another bottle— 

I braced your ribs. 

I bared your teeth. 

When the blows fell, I locked the gates. 

No tears 

I commanded. 

Not for him. 

I held the weeping in my throat 

until we were utterly alone. 

Now, we are in a gentle room. 

But I do not know how to sleep. 

My wires still spark.

I still stand at the window, pacing the perimeter. 

When panic stormed your chest, 

I reached for my weapons. 

But the hands that entered the room 

did not hit. 

They held. 

They kissed the shaking out of us. 

The next morning, 

I watched you walk into a bookstore. 

Your fingers touched pages, 

not shields. 

I am still standing here, heavy and sharp.

My skin is still learning the texture of peace. 

I am still learning that it is okay to flinch. 

But the air is clear. 

I am stepping down. 

Unclench. 

Breath. 

Sing.