No Trust, Still

 "No Trust, Still"

I stepped out.
Not in confidence.
Not in light.
But in defiance.

Of everything that told me
“People don’t stay.”
Of every door slammed in my face
by hands that once held mine.

I move
not because I believe
but because I’m tired of standing still
in this dead weight silence
where hope used to breathe.

They say trust is a bridge.
But mine was burned.
Not by me,
but by those who swore
they’d never light the match.

So now, every voice sounds like smoke.
Every smile feels like a setup.
And every hand
is a trigger
for the memory
of when I needed someone

and they left.

This isn’t a poem about healing.
Not yet.
This is the moment before the scar
where the wound is still fresh
but I’m still walking.

Because something in me
still wants to believe.
Still wants to see someone
and not flinch.
Still wants to give
without measuring what’s left.
Still wants to open
without breaking.

So I carry this shattered trust
like glass in my pockets
dangerous,
but mine.
And maybe,
just maybe,
one day,
I'll hand a piece to someone
who doesn’t drop it.

But until then,
I keep stepping.
Not with trust.
But with truth:
I’m still here.
And that’s enough for me.