They said —
“Lower your voice, you’re a girl.”
“Hide your hurt, fix your face, be soft.”
But what if I’m made of scars
stitched together by things I never asked for?

I cried — not for drama,
but because it was the only language I had left.
But even my tears made them angry.
Even my silence was called wrong.

I searched for loyal hearts,
begged for safe hands —
But friends turned into strangers,
and love left like it never planned to stay.

So I turned homeward,
thinking: “If not them, then at least my parents?”
But they became my deepest wound —
doing what even enemies wouldn’t do,
then blaming me for the bleeding.

“Control your emotions.”
“Girls don’t talk like that.”
They made me feel broken
for simply being human.

I see other daughters —
held, protected, understood.
Mothers loving them like warmth itself.
Fathers soft with pride in their eyes.
Siblings standing beside them like shields.

And I ask —
What did I do so wrong
to never be loved like that?

Mama left,
and with her went the last piece of light.
Since then, days blur.
Nights are longer.
Life never stood straight again.

I gave my best.
I stayed kind.
But kindness in this world
feels like walking into fire barefoot —
and then being blamed for burning.

And now,
what’s left of me?
Just a tired soul,
still waiting for something
that maybe never existed in the first place.