You let her send me away.
Packaged like a problem,
stamped and shipped to stone walls and strangers.
She smiled while sealing the box—
said I’d “thrive” there.

You nodded like a marionette.
String for a spine.
Silence for a mouth.

I was eleven.
She was already calling me a burden,
a shadow,
a stain on her perfect white tiles.
She called her children light.
She called me that girl
Like I was mould on the corners of your name.
You let her bleach the love out of you.
Now all you wear is her voice,
and it doesn’t fit right, Daddy.

You used to tuck me in with your rough hands,
tell me stories in a whisper only I could hear.
Now you only whisper to her,
when I walk in the room
And she slices me apart with those sugar-coated teeth.
She cuts me with compliments,
leaves me bleeding in apologies.
And still—
You nod.
You nod like a broken clock,
ticking to her every word.

Your house is full of sunshine now,
but it burns me.
Her kids gets smiles,
presents stacked like towers,
laughter as loud as fireworks.
I get a one-word text on my birthday.
Happy.

She breaks me, Daddy.
She breaks me with a voice that drips syrup
when she’s sweet to them
and acid when she speaks to me.
Her eyes scan me like a mess she forgot to clean.
And you—
You just stand there.
Are you made of wax now?

She hates me for breathing.
You hate me for reminding you I exist.
Boarding school is her win.
Her exile.

You said it was “for my future.”
But I know it’s because I didn’t fit her furniture.
Because I looked too much like your past.

And I swear—
Everytime I come home,
your love is like a museum exhibit.
Do not touch.
Do not ask.
Do not remember.
But I remember, Daddy.
I remember when I was the light in your eyes.
Before she turned them to mirrors.
That only reflects what she wants to see.

So go ahead.
Tuck her kids in.  
Call them angels.
Give her the keys to your spine.
Build your kingdom of pretty lies.
But know this—
One day, I’ll stop knocking.
I’ll stop writing.
I’ll become the ghost
You were too weak to hold on to.
And when I leave for good,
You won’t even notice the silence.

Daddy,
you let her **** me with words,
and you held the knife.

My stomach does that thing—
you know, when the ghost
rests a hand there.
Not a hit.
Just a hush,
and fingernails.

Like it never left.
Like I’m the one
who forgot to feed it.

It’s always at dawn.
Or mid-laugh.
Or in line at the dollar store—
buying nail polish I’ll chew off by Tuesday
and an eyelash curler,
just in case he sees me
from across a decade.

Then you paraglide in—
a salesman who knew I’d be home.
And the floor remembers
what I worked so hard to forget.

And I gasp—like I tripped.
But I didn’t.
I remembered.

I remembered
the ghost
you left me to raise alone.

Like:
“Hi. Just passing through.
Don’t stress on my behalf.”

I nod.
And I don’t.
I keep chewing the same nail.
My eyelashes are curled.
My stomach still does that thing.

You know the one.

Every time I said I wanted to die
it wasn't the truth, I wanted to live.
Because I love life, I love people,
I love making people smile,
I love being the reason somebody laughs
or feels loved.

See, I didn't wanna die
but a part of me was dying
because of all the abuse.
I wanted to be free
of all the hurt, free of the reality,
the person I love more than anything.
Never existed,
just an unfortunate ghost.

I didn't wanna die
but a part of me did.

Fighting those demons,
the ones that whispered in my ear,
the ones that tore at my soul,
I held on tight to hope,
to the belief that one day
the pain would go away.

But it didn't.

And so, I wore a mask,
a smile that hid the tears,
laughter that drowned out the screams.
I became the master of pretending,
the expert at deception.

Yet, beneath it all,
beneath the laughter and smiles,
the truth remained,
a silent scream that echoed
through the depths of my being.

I didn't wanna die
but a part of me did.

And now, as I pen these words,
I'm not searching for sympathy,
or a knight in shining armor.
I simply want to be heard,
to let my pain have a voice,
to acknowledge that it existed.

Because within that pain,
that darkness that threatened to consume,
a flicker of hope remained.
A tiny flame that whispered,
"Keep fighting, keep living,
for there is love and joy yet to be found."

So, I won't give in to the darkness,
to the lies that whisper in the night.
I'll fight with every breath,
with every beat of my heart,
to reclaim my life, my happiness,
my freedom from the shadows that haunt.

See, every time I said I wanted to die
it wasn't the truth, I wanted to live.

The other night some man took a trip outside city limits.
He ambled along until he got to a pasture where the ghosts were warm and thoughtful,
missionaries in a newly old land.
They looked as though they were brimming with knowledge on how to live correctly,
but he was just a visitor looking for freedom from thought,
and so asked nothing.
Though he did learn the ghosts weren’t fully translucent.
It seemed there was still blood in them.