Every elder daughter is an assassin —
of the
child
inside her,
of the
dreams
she once saw,
of the
happiness
she deserved,
of the
weakness
she was
allowed to have,
of the
little girl
who was
immature,
of the
feelings
she had,
of the
fear
she hid,
and of
herself.

I am a disappearing soul, in a dark room with sleepless nights.
A dark smoke is around me.
I am trapped here by my own emotions.
I am tired of being good.
Can I escape this hell?
My soul is beautiful.
But it doesn't matter in this hell.
Being an elder daughter feels like a sin to me.
Some have many expectations from me, and I can't meet them.
I feel like I can't go on with their expectations.
The only thing that stops me going from this hell is "my mother crying a lot because of me."