Be Careful With Yourself

There is something

self-destructive in me,

a part that reaches for fire

even when I know it burns.

It whispers when I’m tired,

pulls at me when I’m lonely,

tries to convince me

that chaos is comfort

and ruin is familiar.

So I have to be careful.

Gentle.

Honest with myself

about the places I am fragile

and the urges that pretend

to be escape.

I am learning

that awareness is protection,

that naming the darkness

keeps it from sneaking up on me.

I don’t shame myself

for the battles inside me —

I just hold my own hands tighter,

choose softer ways to survive,

and remind the hurt in me

that I’m not abandoning it

ever again.

Because I can be dangerous

to myself,

yes.

But I can also be

the one who saves me

if I stay aware,

stay gentle,

stay here.