I carry worlds upon my back,
A heavy load, no turning back.
The eldest daughter, strong and sure,
Expected always to endure.
The path I walk, no map in hand,
I'm first to rise, the last to stand.
A sister's guide, a parent's hope,
I balance on a fragile rope.
They look to me when times are tough,
As if my strength is always enough.
But underneath this brave façade,
I feel the cracks, the growing scar.
I shoulder burdens, hide my fears,
I wipe away my quiet tears.
The one who fixes, holds, and mends,
But who is there when I descend?
I long to rest, to just be free,
To shed this weight, to just be me.
But still I stand, because I must—
The eldest daughter, built from trust.
In silence, I'll keep carrying on,
Though nights are long and strength is gone.
For in my heart, I've come to see,
This weight I bear is all of me.
YOU ARE READING
She's antiromantique
PoetryShe was heartbroken, instead of the revenge she wrote, she wrote like no one else ever did, every feeling, every sense of discomfort, every thought, was written down, in every book corner, every piece of paper, every napkin, knowing that all of them...
