Unwritten Rules

They built a world of straight lines and called it safe. Measured the hours, polished the edges, taught the days how to behave. They handed out scripts like folded maps— “this is the way,” they said. But something in me kept turning sideways, refusing to walk where it was led. I misplaced their answers, lost track of “should,” forgot how to follow on cue. And somewhere between what was expected and what I knew— I chose the part they couldn’t name. And kept it.