Petals I Never Picked

Each post is a petal I never dared to touch. This is where I bloom in silence.

[ablogbymaomao]

Petal IV — The Mother

She didn’t break me with fists. She used words like weapons, glances like knives. She threw my ring in the trash. She screamed. He stood still. And I— I shrank.

[ablogbymaomao]

Petal III — The Woman on the Screen

Some betrayals don’t hide—they pose for pictures. I saw her call him “mine.” I saw his comments. I heard his silence. He called her “just a friend.” Funny how “just a friend” sounds like “just not you.”

[ablogbymaomao]

🌸 Petals I Never Picked

The Moment I Speak

Everything is fine— until I speak.

Until my voice breaks the room, until my truth dares to stand beside his comfort.

The moment I express myself, the conversation becomes about him. His efforts. His feelings. His frustrations. And I vanish again, mid-sentence, like a shadow that dared to ask for sunlight.

But what about what I swallow? What about the words that rot in my mouth because I’m too tired to repeat myself to a silence that never listens?

He says my kisses, my hugs, my gentle touches are enough. Enough to soothe him. Enough to prove love. But for me? Nothing is ever enough.

I am the warmth he reaches for when he is cold. But he never asks why I am freezing inside.

For him, I am relief. For me, he is weight. And I am getting tired of carrying us both.

He calls me crazy when I say I want to leave. But how long can you stay in a house where your voice is unwelcome?

This is not hatred. This is not rebellion. This is just a woman who has given too much and is starting to realize that she cannot keep blooming in a place that doesn’t water her.

— Mao Mao.

[ablogbymaomao]

Petal II — The Cold North

I worked until my bones ached, until my soul forgot it had softness. Dakota winds taught me how to survive. I saved, planned, dreamed. I thought love was waiting for me on the other side. But it was just another winter.

[ablogbymaomao]

Petal I — Arrival

I did not come here to start over. I came here because I had nowhere else to begin. Texas was not a dream. It was a desperate hope. He welcomed me with words I wanted to believe. “I’m glad you’re here. Ruin my life,” he said. And I… I started watering the soil with love. Not knowing it was already salted.

[ablogbymaomao]

📌 This is where I bloom in silence

Every post is a petal I never dared to pick. Now, I offer them to the wind. Welcome. My name is Mao Mao. I am not a warrior, nor a poet— but a flower that learned to bloom in broken soil. This blog is not loud. It is a quiet garden. A place for all the pieces of myself I hid for too long. Pain, survival, memory, motherhood, silence. You will find them here—soft, trembling, honest. I call each fragment a petal. Because like petals, my truths are delicate. They fall one by one, never all at once. They are not written in order. They are not always whole. But together, they form a life. I write to heal. To remember who I was before I bent too far. To honor the version of me that kept breathing even when she wanted to disappear. If you’ve ever cried quietly so no one would hear, If you’ve ever loved someone who made you feel small, If you’ve ever carried a child while carrying your own wounds— This space is for you. Here, you are not alone. You are welcome among the petals.

—Mao Mao 🩶 The Balsam Flower