i hate to say this, but...
if i outlive these days
i don't want to fold into my mother's shape

she carried homework like weather
ate last, leftover warmth on her plate
they called her a bad wife when a child grew thin
when pockets emptied before month's end
and she married a shadow that left fingerprints of grief.

i hate to say this, but...
if the world lets me marry
i don't want him to be my father's echo

he treats work as his only prayer
housework a map with her name on it
teaching kids, her altar, not him
his ego occupied the highest throne
and he became a nightmare for his family

if i live longer enough to love
i don't want to forget
partnership is not a one-way street
not a burden carried by one hand
but two hearts keeping the house warm
two feet learning the same map of ordinary days
two souls sharing both the blame and the happiness.

so, dear the future
i promise you this:
i will not repeat their script.
i will build a home
where love doesn't mean sacrifice alone
where respect doesn't come last to hunger
where family is not another word for prison.