Child

I learned to shine before I spoke,
To earn the warmth, to dodge the cold.
I made my hands immaculate,
And swallowed every word untold.

I learned that love had narrow doors,
And only one could pass them through.
So I became the smallest knife,
And cut away what wasn’t new.

I grew a hunger dressed as grace,
A need to leave no flaw behind.
I built a throne from perfect things,
Then chained my heartbeat to its side.

Now when another takes my place,
My body knows before my mind.
A room goes quiet in my chest,
And something ancient starts to cry.

It isn’t jealousy I feel,
It’s something older than its name.
A child still counting every breath,
Still terrified of losing place.

I watch the chosen walk away,
While I remain where I was left.
And suddenly the years collapse,
I am that little girl again.

She doesn’t ask to be adored.
She only asks, “Why wasn’t I?”
And God, I wish I could tell her
That being chosen isn’t life.

But some old wounds don’t bleed outside;
They bloom beneath the finest skin.
They wait until a door shuts once,
Then drag the whole damn childhood in.