Bright lights and demons

They say
decentre men
work on yourself
heal first
as if love is a prize you receive
for being good enough, quiet enough, whole enough.
As if harm only comes to the unhealed.

When I was young
laughing easily,
brilliant,
with the future open like a door,
I didn’t attract devotion.
I attracted a liar.
A cheater.
Someone who could look at light and still choose darkness.

When I was broken
thin-skinned, exhausted, surviving
I didn’t attract safety.
I attracted a gambler.
A fraud.

And when I rose again
new business humming,
body strong,
eyes bright,
finally at peace with myself
I did not attract a fairytale.
I attracted a demon.

A thing that fed on empathy,
that mirrored love until it could control it,
that mistook my warmth for a doorway.

Self-work is not a shield.
Happiness is not a filter.
Healing does not repel predators.
Sometimes being a bright light doesn’t summon love.
It summons creatures who have spent their lives hiding from it.

This isn’t about centring or decentring men.
This is about seeing clearly.

Some people are not lessons.
They are warnings.

Some men are not mirrors.
They are masks.

And some demons don’t come when you’re weak
they come when you’re radiant.

Tonight, as the year closes,
I am not making resolutions.
I am making a reckoning.
I keep the light.
I leave the demons in the year that’s ending.

Midnight doesn’t owe me love.
But it does mark survival.
And that is enough to step forward clean.