7. UNiCORN
The one who stayed.
Unicorn found me.
Maps my PTSD.
Loves me anyway.
[VERSE 1]
Hot plate coil glows; bagel pops; knife scrapes toast.
Grape nebula on a borrowed plate, peanut-butter coat.
He says, "Happy, healthy, home," into the day.
Traffic rattle's window seams; eviction's glued to our name.
Rats chew on the beams, sirens line our brains.
We moved far away, no family, no friends to name.
Crowbar under bed from first night knock and warning shot.
Aimee guards my belly; Morty's at the door, cat on the job.
I called it "travel-sick"; we didn't know it was our son—pregnant.
He left his art in Omaha; his fingers twitch for needle and pigment.
No Wi-Fi, blacked-out media; we packed the car with what would fit.
He rides my triggers, rides the fights; that unicorn grit.
He doesn't rush hope—hums low while black mold crawls the ceiling above.
One step from homeless, card-trick lock; Unicorn holds the threshold against the shove.
PTSD boots in my bones, easy trigger; he hears it rise then foam—
In the loud of everything broken, he makes breakfast feel like poems.
[PRE-CHORUS]
Unicorn reads the flinch; unwinds me from within.
Unicorn asks, "Do you want to? Is this okay?"—waits till I begin.
Unicorn lets me untangle the past, choose what to unpin.
Unicorn shows up a thousand small ways; my body lets me in.
[CHORUS]
Unicorn—happy, healthy, home.
Unicorn—horn-as-lighthouse, he uncurses me.
He maps my storms; mane like mercy.
He stands—I settle; old alarms disperse me.
He slows—I soften; he stays till fears reverse me.
Unicorn—Unicorn—
He stays; I rewire.
Unicorn.
[VERSE 2]
Our bed is safe; but my body still runs old scripts.
Old triggers rise—freeze looks polite; he waits for yes on my lips.
Pump parts dry on the nightstand; our son asleep; I'm touched-out.
History walks in without knocking; my ribs pull tight into shout.
He logs my twitch, keeps exits lit—"we can stop anytime."
"Do you want to?"—"Is this okay?" — never crosses the line.
My shoulders drop; mind clicks off; I'm back in us.
I used to use sex like a seatbelt; now the belt is trust.
He touches shoulder before hips; knows my mind swarms.
He never treats confusion like consent; he pauses, and I warm.
Unicorn under pressure—gentleness is his charm.
Rats still chew the walls; outside yells—he touches my arm.
Unicorn steady—under heat and mold, he stays un-afraid.
Consent and care get braided—we slow the pace.
Outside sirens, fistfights; inside newborn and hush.
I sleep because this Unicorn holds us.
[BRIDGE]
He misses his craft, this I know:
he's art in motion—happy, healthy, home.
He sketches safety till the fear is withdrawn.
Flashbacks flood the frame; he holds the focus—redrawn.
He delivers our son; no doctors, no gown.
Peanut butter jelly palette swirls on wheat—new stencil laid down.
Consent is composition; he signs it with presence.
I keep a lamp lit for his craft's return to essence.
[CHORUS]
Unicorn—happy, healthy, home.
Unicorn—horn-as-lighthouse, he uncurses me.
He maps my storms; mane like mercy.
He stands—I settle; old alarms disperse me.
He slows—I soften; he stays till fears reverse me.
Unicorn—Unicorn—
He stays; I rewire.
Unicorn.
[OUTRO]
I used to be scared of doors; he checks them now—I breathe.
Unicorn found me.
