She was safe
on the days she gave the panacea of invisibility for her mothers nostalgic melancholy
and her fathers scalding vitriol.
They were happy
on days that she pushed her abrasively cheerful spirit all the way down
to the place in herself where the too loud things were sent to be ignored.
She was respected
In the moments she feigned premature maturity,
played dress up as the defeated adult version of herself
and sat quietly joyless at the table of the honoured sombre.

Survival for the girl
Became defeat for the woman

The love she sought by becoming the elixir for the woes of those she loved, became the guillotine where reciprocity went to die.