I'm the mirror of my father, You guessed right, I'm the oldest daughter. The one that can't suppress her anger, And is still expected to hold everyone together. I carry storms no one cares to notice, And silent thunders where my pain hurts. They call me strong like it's a blessing, But strength feels like a cage when I'm always second-guessing. I see the way my voice sharpens like his, I observe the way my anger matches his, The way that silence becomes an abyss, And pain turns truth into myths. And I'm scared of the comfort, That the anger might hold. I'm scared of finding relief in things, That numb instead of heal.