Exile
Every group has the same trajectory:
welcome, acceptance, comfort,
then the inevitable moment—a meltdown,
a misunderstanding, a day when I can't pretend that their world doesn't hurt.
The silence that follows is louder than any rejection,
doors closing softly but permanently,
invitations that stop coming,
messages left unread.
I collect communities like scars,
each one a reminder.
That belonging is conditional.
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