I understand
is the phrase I keep in my mouth
like a blade I never turn outward.

I understand
when plans dissolve quietly,
when promises evaporate without apology,
when silence does the talking
and I translate it for everyone else.

I understand
because it is easier than asking
why I am always the one
expected to bend without breaking.

I say it with a steady voice,
as if understanding were consent,
as if empathy were not a slow erosion
of my own edges.

I understand
becomes a grave marker
for things I was excited about,
for time I carved out carefully,
for hope that showed up early
and left alone.

No one asks if I am tired of understanding.
No one wonders what it costs
to be the soft landing
for other people’s carelessness.

If I tattooed it on my skin,
it would not be decorative.
It would be a warning.

I understand
does not mean I am untouched.
It means I learned how to swallow disappointment
without making a sound.

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