They say power comes in sharp lines.

In angles.

In bones.

In hard, straight edges that cut.

But mine?

Mine is soft.

And it ruins people.

I walk into a room

and the air changes.

Not because I’m trying—

because I don’t have to.

I don’t beg to be seen.

I expect it.

And when they look?

They stay.

Because I’m not subtle.