I asked for petals. They gave me thorns.
I didn’t complain. Didn’t protest.
Just pressed them into my palms
and let the pain sit there
because what else can I do but accept

I asked for a home. And got walls that didn’t care if I stayed.
Rooms that swallowed my voice whole.
A mother whose hands used to tuck me in
now they just tremble, now they just throw things,
now they just forgot how to hold me.

I asked for a father.
He left his shadow behind, but not himself.
I still set the table for him.
Still listen for the sound of his footsteps.
Still wonder if he knows I am disappearing
into the spaces he abandoned.

I asked for love, but no one looked at me long enough
to see the cracks forming beneath my skin.
No one noticed when I stopped crying,
when I stopped asking for anything at all.

I asked for petals.
They gave me thorns.
And when they saw me wearing them like a crown,
they finally realized
I had stopped feeling the pain a long time ago. (Not that they cared at all)