Wildflower

You made me carry everything you refused to face.

Your sadness.
Your insecurity.
Your rage.
Your shame.

You held onto control like it was love,
and I bent myself into shapes to keep the peace —
until I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

You say you love me, but love that costs me my self isn’t love.
It’s possession. It’s guilt. It’s survival.
And I’ve finally stopped surviving you.

You dripped shame into me drop by drop —
until I couldn’t tell where yours ended and mine began.
But I know now.
It was never mine to hold.

You don’t get to call me selfish
for walking away from a dynamic that broke me.
You don’t get to spin the story now that I’ve stopped playing my part.

And maybe now you’re drowning in your own shame,
and maybe that hurts —
but I won’t be the life raft this time.

You had decades.
You had chances.
And still, you chose power over presence.
Control over connection.
Image over intimacy.

Well, I choose me now.

And I won’t apologise for it.

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🌱 A Quiet Reflection

Like a wildflower growing through cracked concrete,
sometimes healing doesn’t look soft — it looks defiant.
It grows in silence. It roots in pain. It reaches for light anyway.

And so do I.

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