Behind bars,
I walked the thin edge;
where whispers cut sharper than steel,
and eyes,
like vultures,
circled each step,
hunger for fear hung thick in the air.
I passed fists that promised bruises,
smiles that hid knives in the palm,
and lies that could turn sister to foe
before the lock clicked twice.
Each breath I drew was a gamble,
every glance a negotiation with ghosts,
yet somehow I moved through the storm
without a mark,
without surrender.
The danger lingered,
always near,
but I carried a silence,
a calm,
a careful heartbeat that said:
not today.
Not me.
I survived not by strength alone,
but by reading the currents of rage
and stepping lightly where others stumbled,
learning the invisible map of survival.