A Good Girl

I have known the ache of loneliness,

gripped iron chains so tightly

my palms learned the language of blood.

There is no one now

to whom I can loosen my voice,

no shoulder left

that does not turn to stone.

I have endured so much

that even pain grew tired of announcing itself—

my senses dulled,

my heart still awake.

This is the cost of softness.

This is the fee a girl like me pays

for holding up a mirror

when the world prefers shadows,

for showing dirt

no one wants to wash away.

I confess—

with oceans of love in my chest,

I have drowned in every relationship.

Deceived each time,

faith returned unopened.

I suffered until my body learned sickness,

yet received no love,

no chivalry,

only the careful art of abandonment.

Still, I hope the future will change its tone.

I cannot end this in sorrow—

not entirely.

Because once,

my therapist cared.

And if she were to read these lines,

I fear disappointment more than pain.

I do not want to disappoint.

That is who I am.

A good girl.

To Those Who Keep Asking

When you ask me

When will life finally settle?

what answer do you seek

for a page

even fate has not yet turned?

I do not know

what still waits in the margins—

whether certain doors will open

or remain unnamed.

That knowledge was never mine to hold.

But this much I know:

I have carried the weight

many women carry unseen—

the long patience, the careful silence,

the art of enduring without witnesses.

Happiness passed briefly,

yet sorrow learned my language.

Do not ask me to be strong.

Do not ask me to keep hoping.

Hope is born of longing,

and longing is a thing

I have gently laid down.

I once asked the Divine

for only one kindness:

that the one I chose

would choose me too.

That prayer was answered—

and it is enough.

Some answers

do not need repetition.

Hope walks easily

with lives that follow

familiar roads.

Mine has always moved

through bends and shadows,

learning differently,

loving deeply.

Yes, once—

when love first arrived,

hope stayed with me.

When I was once chosen,

it sparked again.

But now,

it has grown quiet.

So let me be.

Let my silences remain mine.

Not every life needs explaining,

not every future needs naming.

Some journeys are meant

to be lived gently,

without questions.