braya unfragmented

What I never said out loud is I really don’t give a damn about what people think about me. Not my momma, not my daddy, not my kids, not the church I was indoctrinated under—and honestly, not about what their so called “god” that they worship. I don’t move to fit in.

I never thought I’d be punished for my thoughts, my sexuality, and the way I communicate it. I never thought I should be defined by how I’m dressed, or if I’m married, or how many kids I have at whatever age I had the at. Nor how many times I’ve been married, or how many baby daddies I have.

I never felt less than—just bold and courageous for walking in my choice and power to make decisions of my own, and willing to accept the reaction from it. I was fiercely and perfectly made. And no matter how much the world tried to tell me otherwise, a voice inside told me not to believe it.

So I sat back and held on to my beliefs quietly, and observed how others got in line and played the puppet to fit in. I admit—I did as well, to get the job or the contract, to have friends, or to be a “perfect” example for my kids.

But I woke up and realized that coloring in the lines didn’t make me unique—it made me digestible. Well, I’m no longer here to be devoured by any and everyone. I’m here to be an acquired taste.

And those who can handle my flavor—my fire, my grit, my sweet thick juicy messy goodness, my layers and textures—will experience and enjoy all of the beautiful things I have to share.

All others can choke, suffocate, burn without a quencher. I hope I get stuck in their throat and close off the airway.

Because being small doesn’t run in my veins any longer. And today, I walk in all of me.

I am—Brāya, Unfragmented.

And if that makes them uncomfortable?

Good.

I wasn’t made for comfort—I was made for clarity.

I wasn’t built to be everyone’s cup of tea. I’m the whole fucking chalice. Spiced. Spilled. Consecrated.

The world adjusts to me.

The systems rearrange their rules when I walk in. Let the air change when I speak. Let the ones who wanted me polite and polite only—choke on the silence I no longer offer.

I’m not soft because I’m silent. I’m soft because I choose to be, not because I’m afraid not to be.