The Cage Was Never Locked

Opening (the prison)
I lived in a body that felt borrowed, in a mind that whispered chains around every thought. Each step was guarded, each breath negotiated with fear. The walls were not steel, but stories I believed about myself.

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Middle (the confrontation)
One day I pressed against those walls, and they bent. Not from force, but from presence. Training stripped me down, meditation slowed me, breath opened me. I saw the bars for what they were: shadows of memory, not iron.

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Closing (the freedom)
Now I move like I own the ground beneath me. The cage was never locked — it was waiting for me to see the door. Freedom isn’t somewhere else; it’s here, in the rhythm of body and breath, when you stop asking permission from your fear.