I carry ghosts in my ribcage Whispers of all the times I said “I’m fine” When I was anything but. I was born learning to swallow storms, Make silence look like survival. I am the aftermath of slammed doors, of love with conditions, of be quiet, sit still, earn your place. I’ve been clapping for others while choking on my own applause. Kept my worth on layaway traded truth for attention, flirted with validation like Maybe being desired would make me matter. I’ve said sorry So many times My name forgot how to stand. I stitched myself together with approval from broken people. Learned to shrink so they’d stay. But I’m tired. Tired of dressing my pain in mascara and smiles. Tired of being strong In ways that leave me empty. So this This is the ask. Not a scream. Not a sob. Just a whisper I’m letting be loud: Help me. Help me unlearn the noise. Help me meet the girl buried under all these masks. Help me forgive the mirror. Help me stop dancing for crumbs When I was born a feast. I don’t want to be anyone’s maybe. I want to be my own hell yes. This isn’t weakness this is war paint. This is cracked open and unafraid. This is the soft becoming steel. This is me hand raised, voice shaking But finally asking anyway.