They gave me life, but not the light,
Raised me in shadows, out of sight.
The first-born flame, expected to shine,
But scolded for every fault they’d find.
I learned to walk on broken glass,
To smile while letting sorrow pass.
They gave the younger ones their praise,
And left me burning in the blaze.
"You should be more like her," they said,
While dreams I built were left for dead.
Each word from them—a sharpened dart,
Cutting open a quiet heart.
I wore pride like hand-me-downs, ill-fit,
Taught to endure, not to quit.
But in the mirror, I’ve seen my tears
Shape themselves into silent years.
They laughed at my body, my skin, my face,
Their shame for me — a permanent place.
Even my father, without remorse,
Cracked jokes on me with casual force.
In rooms where love should have sat tall,
I learned how to be invisible, small.
I fought for them, screamed for their grace,
But they left me stranded in disgrace.
I held my sisters when they fell,
Bit my tongue and bore their hell.
But when I slipped, when I was bruised —
They looked away. I was never excused.
A child shouldn't bleed to feel alive,
But some nights, it’s how I survived.
Hiding red truths beneath long sleeves,
Writing pain in secret eulogies.
I never wanted pity, just a voice,
A safe place, a second choice.
Someone to say, "You matter too,"
Not just what I should or shouldn’t do.
But in this home, I'm out of place,
A cracked frame in a gilded space.
I ache for distance, crave the air,
Where I’m not judged by what I wear.
I don’t want to live in rooms of spite,
Where love is cold and never right.
I don’t want to flinch at every sound,
Or shrink each time they come around.
Is it wrong to want to go?
To leave the only hell I know?
Not to hate them, but to survive—
To breathe, to heal, to stay alive.
I'm not your mirror, not your shame,
Not here to glorify your name.
I'm flesh and soul and fractured bone,
Tired of feeling so alone.
I don’t want flowers, just the truth.
Not judgment masked as sacred proof.
I want someone—just one—to stay,
To hold me through the ache and say:
"You are not too much, not a disgrace.
You don’t need to earn your place.
You are enough, even broken.
Even silent, even outspoken.”
Until then, I walk this road alone,
With scars that feel like homegrown stone.
But I will rise, though not for them—
For the girl I was, for who I’ve been.
For the sister, the storm, the unseen flame—
The eldest daughter who breaks the chain.
