She is a girl in a gilded cage, it is beautiful to look at, bars made of finest gold, engraved with delicate flowers and shimmering vines. But it is still a cage.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, protected, sheltered, safe, but not free. Like an elegant songbird, she is expected to sing, and she does, forever obedient, forever trying to please.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, never allowed out, always behind those beautiful bars while they shout at her, for she did not sing their favorite song that day.
She is a girl in a gilded cage. Begging with her eyes for someone to see beyond the sweet and happy melody she sings, to open the little door, to let her out.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, cowering in a corner as they make the cage smaller, for she did not play her part, instead doing something they will not allow.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, when they are gone she hurts herself, believing she deserves to hurt for being a disappointment.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, sitting on the floor, her only true friend lifeless in her arms, a sob suppressed for she cannot show she is hurting, always happy.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, her innocence taken too early, too fast, looking for a way out because anything is better than this pain, shredding her from the inside.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, learning how to pick the lock because no one will save her so she has to save herself.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, going to parties and getting drunk, hooking up with strangers, even though the one she really wants is there, but so far away.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, coming back every time, because they have trained her to believe she needs them to survive.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, still singing, but her eyes hold secrets and pain that she has never voiced out loud.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, something cracked within her, and someone finally notices and asks what is wrong, but she will not say, afraid of the abandonment given by so many others.
She is a girl in a gilded cage, singing, laughing, joking, and no one will ever know that she is a prisoner, one who might not make it out alive.

i am a breathing ghost
drifting through life
getting more and more insubstantial
by the day.
because i can’t anymore.
there is nothing left for me here
and now i just watch,
a spectator to my own life,
as i hurtle toward the end.

A soft hand, curled in mine, a hesitant dove finding harbor.
Fingers interlaced, a fragile promise etched against the harsh landscape of expectation and whispered doubts.
Her eyes, a twilight sky, reflecting constellations I never knew existed, galaxies of longing and unspoken dreams. We build our world in stolen glances, secret smiles blooming in crowded rooms.
A rebellion in whispered syllables, a sanctuary found in the curve of her smile. We braid our stories, thread by delicate thread, a tapestry woven on the loom of shared breath, ignoring the looming storm, the disapproving glances, the weight of tradition.
We are wildflowers pushing through concrete, a love song humming beneath the surface, a defiant bloom in a monochrome world. We are brave, we are terrified, we are everything they told us we couldn't be.
But the air grows thick with unspoken fears, the shadows lengthen, and the whispers turn to shouts. The world outside clamors for conformity, demands we dismantle the haven we've built.
We carry their whispers, the ghost of the past, the girls who dared to love when it meant everything, and lost too much. We are their hope, their lament, their quiet victory,
but history hates lovers, doesn't it?

you feel like you have a straight jacket on,
slowly getting tighter and tighter
until you can’t breathe.
they yell, shame, belittle, disrespect,
and then lose their minds when you express the smallest hint of a personality.
they expect you to be grateful for the life they’ve given you, and you are, but you feel so small and alone and angry, you just want to get out. but you can’t. ******* straight jacket.