I was handed fists
for as long as I can remember.
My curiosity—squashed with screams.
I didn’t learn the alphabet—
it was beaten into my ribs.

I didn’t hold hands.
But their grip was tight enough
to remind me I’d never leave.
I’ve been property since conception,
just signed over with a new lease.

My tears were never wiped—
they were smacked off my face. You must swallow all emotion or you're a disgrace.

I was to speak when spoken to and never out of turn. What happens at home stays at home and no one else should learn.

It wasn't a phase mom- daughters marry men like their dads. Though I came pre-etched in rules there was a new ruler to be had.

I was handed fists,
my whole life,
disguised as loving encouragement
to be better.

How was I to know you don't have to yell to show passion?