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That_Girl_WhoPoems
I don’t get how the girl is the ****** when silence was carved into her throat, when “no” was buried and taught to rot beneath her tongue, when her fear is called drama and his damage gets called depth. They name her a storm like it’s a warning— but they were the drought, cracking her open, teaching her how to disappear without ever leaving. She learned. God, she learned. How to shrink her voice until it sounded like permission, how to smile like a bandage over something still bleeding, how to make pain digestible, pretty enough to swallow. But something stayed alive in her— feral, pacing, scratching at the inside of her ribs. And when it finally spoke, it wasn’t gentle. It tore through the quiet, through the careful, through the version of her they could control— and suddenly she’s dangerous. Suddenly she’s unstable. Suddenly she’s the story people tell each other in lowered voices. The ****** Not the hands that taught her fear. Not the mouths that rewrote her “no.” Not the world that starved her then flinched when she bit back. Just her. A girl who stopped dying quietly and called it living.
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Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 3:55 PM UTC
The Girl
I don’t get how the girl is the ****** when silence was carved into her throat, when “no” was buried and taught to rot beneath her tongue, when her fear is called drama and his damage gets called depth. They name her a storm like it’s a warning— but they were the drought, cracking her open, teaching her how to disappear without ever leaving. She learned. God, she learned. How to shrink her voice until it sounded like permission, how to smile like a bandage over something still bleeding, how to make pain digestible, pretty enough to swallow. But something stayed alive in her— feral, pacing, scratching at the inside of her ribs. And when it finally spoke, it wasn’t gentle. It tore through the quiet, through the careful, through the version of her they could control— and suddenly she’s dangerous. Suddenly she’s unstable. Suddenly she’s the story people tell each other in lowered voices. The ****** Not the hands that taught her fear. Not the mouths that rewrote her “no.” Not the world that starved her then flinched when she bit back. Just her. A girl who stopped dying quietly and called it living.
That_Girl_Who
Written by
That_Girl_Who
18/F/Michigan
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 3:55 PM UTC
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