You Do Not Have to Edit the Dawn

The steam fogs the mirror before you even step out. You are already rehearsing.

Trimming the edges of your story so it fits in a smaller box. Making your truth digestible for the people who will ask, 'How are you?' before the coffee is even poured.

You are practicing being smaller than you are. But the sun is rising anyway.

It does not shrink itself to fit through your window. It floods the room whether you are ready to be seen or not.

The light that woke you up did not wait for your permission. It simply arrived.

You do not have to edit the dawn to make it palatable for the day. The light is already standing in the kitchen, waiting for you to walk in exactly as you are.

The mask is heavy; the face beneath it is free.