Unasked Armor

Exploring the discomfort of unwelcome help and the implications of "protection" when it’s imposed rather than offered.

I am not yours to shelter.

Don’t mistake my freedom for fragility,

don’t dress my will in your steel,

don’t flatter yourself with chains called safety.

This strength is my own�"

built from years you’ll never know,

wounds you wouldn’t dare to bear,

not your weapon, not your duty.

Did I ask for protection?
Did I beg for your iron grip on my life?

I’ll take risk, raw and real, over this heavy pretense.

Do not say you’ll save me when I never needed saving,

do not wrap your fears around me,

as if my body, my choices, are yours to claim, to guard, to manage.

This “safety” you offer,

a gilded prison hidden under thin concern,

is nothing but control dressed up as care,

possession draped in false duty.

So take back your promises of protection,

your armor that stifles, your power that strangles.

I don’t need saving, not by you.
I am no one’s project, no one’s weakness to shield.

This life, this fight, this power�"I own.
You will not hold it for me.

Author's Note

This is still a work in progress, and I am open to feedback. I am wrestling with how to convey power and autonomy without anger.