I Choose to Run
I choose to run
instead of die.
Not because I’m brave,
but because the air is still mine.
Because the road doesn’t ask questions.
Because silence, out there,
is kinder than silence in here.
I could have vanished,
into the nothing they carved for me—
a polite absence,
a quiet collapse.
They might’ve even called it peace.
But no.
I choose to breathe
like it’s an act of war.
To carry my body
like a weapon
against everything
they tried to bury in me.
I choose hunger
over numbness,
mud over a coffin,
a cracked footpath
over a clean grave.
Because somewhere ahead,
there is a river that hasn’t judged me yet.
A tree that will not ask what I’ve done.
A sky that never called me too much.
I don’t want to die.
I want to leave.
And I am.