I learned the art
of turning away slowly,
not in cowardice,
but in survival.
Tergiversate,
they call it weakness
when you refuse
their straight lines,
their sharp corners,
their forced conclusions.
But I have seen
what certainty does
in the hands of the cruel.
I have watched truth
get bruised
by loud convictions.
So I paused.
I curved.
I chose the softer exit
when the room demanded
a roar or a surrender.
I did not betray myself;
I protected the part
still growing.
Sometimes
changing direction
is not indecision,
it is wisdom
wearing patience
like armor.
Let them march
toward cliffs
with banners of “always”
and “never.”
I will tergiversate,
step sideways,
breathe,
and arrive whole.
