Oldest daughter, I walk this path,
where shadows touch my feet
like whispers of the ones I help,
always there with open arms,
but where are the hands
when I need to lean?
I wore the weight
of others' dreams,
bent my back to fit the mold
they painted perfect in their eyes—
a smile that holds love,
a heart that swallows pain.
Growing up too fast,
I learned to be strong,
to lighten heavy hearts,
to wipe tears I never shed,
trading my colors
for the shades of their needs.
I thought I stood tall
but now I feel like a ghost,
lost in the busy flow,
my voice drowned by the laughter
of others, free while I stayed still.
And one day it spills,
these mixed emotions,
like colors blending on a canvas,
creating a storm where silence lay.
I find myself crying,
but what is this space,
this empty room with no one—
no hand to hold,
no soft words that say,
"Are you okay?"
Sometimes I wish,
just to be the one
who can fall apart,
who can forget the role
just for a moment,
let someone in.
But still, I gather the pieces,
wear my mask again,
a patchwork of strength,
and stand in the light,
loving still, though alone,
the oldest daughter,
waiting for the day
when it's my turn to be seen.
