I stepped into their castle,
Bright-eyed and bold, a builder of dreams,
With bricks of curiosity and mortar of hope.
But the walls stood cold, silent, unyielding—
Guardians of a kingdom not meant for me.
Their gaze, like a hammer, chipped at my edges,
Shaving down my wonder, dulling my light.
I spoke in the language of passion,
But they answered in whispers of indifference,
Turning my symphony into a ghostly echo.
Every dawn, I donned my armour,
Ready to battle for a place at the table.
Every dusk, I retreated,
Weary from wars fought in silence,
Carrying their verdict: Not enough.
This kingdom, built on “different thoughts,”
Promised me wings but bound my feet,
Planting seeds of fear where dreams once grew.
“You’ll never soar,” they whispered,
And I believed them, until their words became my own.
The throne I chased was never mine.
It belonged to those crowned by faces,
By favors, by whispers exchanged behind closed doors.
My offerings—crafted with care—
Were cast aside, deemed unworthy by hands that never knew love.
Now, I walk these halls as a shadow,
A phantom of who I used to be.
My voice, once a roar, is now a murmur,
Measured and cautious, afraid to disturb.
My shoulders, once square with pride,
Curve inward, seeking refuge from a world that denied me.
And yet, the ember flickers.
In the ashes of who I was,
Hope still whispers—soft but insistent:
Perhaps one day, the walls will crumble.
Perhaps one day, the kingdom will see.
But for now, I remain—
A builder without tools, a dreamer without wings,
A girl still hoping for love from a place
That only knew how to take.
Written: 2024
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