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.