The Rules I Break

You wouldn’t think someone like me would live by rules. But I do.

I haven’t always followed them. I’ve broken them. I’ve bent them. And each time, it’s led to heartbreak—more often than I care to admit. I made these rules to survive a life I never asked for, to armor myself against a world that didn’t care if I lived or broke. I own my mistakes. But not all the pain I’ve carried was mine to bear. Humans can be cruel. I’ve met more monsters than people, more deceit than love.

Here they are—the rules I set for myself over twenty-five years ago, rules I clung to like lifelines:

1. Never feel. Emotions are traps. They promise connection, then leave you bleeding.

2. Move in silence. Achievements, failures—they are all invisible to others. Only your absence is noticed.

3. Never trust. Everyone has motives. Every gesture is a transaction.

4. Keep silent. Hurt is a weapon you hand over if you show it. Shield yourself, always.

5. Never cry. Tears don’t mend. They only mark you for more pain.

And yet… even with these rules, even with this armor, I break. I feel more than I let on. I trust in fragments, in desperate flashes. I hurt, silently, stubbornly, because no rule can fully shield a beating heart. These rules didn’t make me invincible. They made me human—but a human who knows the cost of living unguarded.

I dance in the fire. I am a creature of emotion, no matter how I fight it. Logic is a costume I wear, but it never fits.
I have always been a monster who craves love—craves it even when it leaves me broken, bleeding, begging at the feet of the masters who taught me how to survive.

I am fire and armor, longing and instinct. I am rules I follow and rules I break. I am everything I was told to fear, and still, I desire connection. Still, I survive. Still, I burn.