I was born into expectations,
wrapped in prayers and rules,
a daughter shaped by scriptures,
but never by choice.

If I speak, my voice is defiance,
if I’m silent, I’m weak.
A war I never started,
yet somehow, I lose.

I tried to be their perfect child,
folded myself into quiet obedience,
swallowed my thoughts like bitter pills,
but perfection was a lie I couldn't live.

So I stood, unbowed, unbroken,
but to them, I was lost.
A wandering soul, a whispered shame,
a lesson in what not to be.

I have made peace with the distance,
with the sighs and the shaking heads.
For I would rather be whole and unloved,
than loved for someone I am not.