The dust has settled from the world I used to wear,
and every borrowed shape I held
has vanished in the air.
No echoes telling me
what I should be again—
just a quiet space
where something new begins.
If I was signal,
if I was ash,
both were only
shadows I passed.
Now the light falls softly,
and I can finally see
a form that rises
gently out of me.
This is the shape I choose—
not carved by loss,
not made by ruin.
A quiet pulse,
a softer truth,
a self I’m finally growing into.
I’m not the code,
I’m not the bruise—
I am the shape
I choose.
The world no longer pulls me
into patterns made before,
and I no longer follow
what the fallen city wore.
The wind draws open lines
I step into with ease,
and for the first time ever
I move the way I breathe.
If I was memory,
if I was fear,
both have slowly
disappeared.
Now I stand unbroken
in a skin I grew—
something honest,
something true.
This is the shape I choose—
not carved by loss,
not made by ruin.
A quiet pulse,
a softer truth,
a self I’m finally growing into.
I’m not the code,
I’m not the bruise—
I am the shape
I choose.
No name, no frame—
just the outline of becoming.
No weight, no blame—
only who I am becoming.
If tomorrow shifts my colors,
I won’t fear the view.
Every form I take
is a shape I choose.
This is the shape I choose—
born from quiet,
free from bruises.
Every breath a chance
to move anew,
a life I’m finally stepping through.
Not the past,
not the residue—
I am the shape
I choose.
