for the longest time
i thought i needed to
return to the child
i was.

i spent half my life
unlearning trauma,
only to lose sight
on the woman
i wanted to become.

you sit sentinel,
ears tilted toward
the quiet hush of rain
as the world falters,
holding her breath,
listening to your heart
as it painfully breaks.

you can’t go outside.
the colours of the garden
and the field,
even your mousies hide,
waiting for the storm to pass.

a tiny king
with a kingdom
he cannot touch.

the state audit office claims,
emotional maturity,
social skills,
expressing yourself
are girls’ traits.

schools reward us
but not the boys —
they are traumatised,
underperform
not just because of a bra stap
but because they need
more risks, space
and maths
as if
history is feminine
and language
is something
only a girl can speak.

they said, boys need
a strategy
to prepare them
for adulthood
as if we aren’t already
living it,
patching holes
in our own lives,
carrying the world
while no one
teaches us how.

researchers however
consider it justified
to dig deeper
and find out
why boys can’t keep up
hoping to tailor a way
that fits them better.

so tailor it.
add a hem.
cut the cloth
but leave us out.
we’ve been altered enough
to their taste
since the dawn of time.

to me,
words mattered
more than acts.
you could pull me close
with a single sentence.
the right phrase,
muttered ever so soft,
could mend
what a kiss could not.

my mind doesn’t care
for big gestures.
they don’t keep me
up at night.
the way you said,
i’ve never had
a real conversation
with her
the way we have,
however, might.

i can't climb out
of the hollow.
small victories, they say,
take pleasure in them,
before they slip
through your lungs
like air that won't stay.

but everywhere i turn,
darkness throws a fit.

half a book done,
thirty days clean—
the kind of milestones
that make me feel... me.
instead
i sit like a ghost
beneath the frog’s ****,
waiting for tomorrow
as if it's a fresh start,
not full of uncertainty.  

nothing happens.

i stare at the screen,
binge never have i ever
until my eyes bleed—
but it doesn't help.
nothing does.
heaviness lingers
like a secret kept,
as i wait for time to pass.

all i do is wait.
for a meeting,
for a friend,
to hold that ****** chip
in my hand—
all i do is wait.
not because i'm strong.
but because i'm so ****
tired sometimes
to let go.

i had no idea how heavy
the heart can be
when it clings
to a dream long gone.

i didn’t need reminding
of how selfish i’ve been.
i stayed away
to find clarity, space—
and who i was meant to be.

my roots are still fixed in the dark.

but i know now
what it’s like
reaching through the clouds,
and being crowned by the sun.

with my first chip in hand.
after thirty days,
i’m ready to speak again,
and let love back into my heart.

they told you no.
they meant never.

they tried to carve
a life without passion—
because passion is poverty,
and you deserved better.

just wait, little one.
the world will carry
your name on its tongue.
the dream they stole,
quiet as a matchstick,
burned through a decade.

today
you’ll strike it—

and the whole sky
will burst into flames.