God forbid a woman who feels too deep,
Who dreams in silence and cries in sleep.
I’ve let hands wander where hearts should stay,
Trading petals for passing praise.

More have touched my skin than brought me flowers,
I count the difference in quiet hours.
Each moment hoping love was there,
Now haunted by the vacant stare.

I gave too much, too soft, too soon,
Chasing suns that turned to moon.
Now I sit with echoes, lost in grace,
Regret like perfume I can’t erase.

But still I bloom, though bruised and torn,
A rose that learns to grow from scorn.
God forbid a woman in love, they say—
But love is mine, and I’ll love anyway.