you moved like a woman
talked like one
smiled like one
breathed like one—
but when the storm came
you vanished
like a girl playing dress-up
in a grown woman’s clothes.
you never became a woman.
you just found people
who let you stay a girl.
they gave you permission
to run instead of rise
to point fingers instead of face mirrors
to call comfort “strength”
and silence “safety.”
they didn’t teach you truth.
they taught you how to hide.
how to turn your wounds into weapons
and call it healing.
you repeated their bitterness
like scripture
and wore their hate
like it made you holy.
you never stood in your own voice.
just echoed the loudest one around you.
you never carried the weight of love.
you just wanted to be carried.
i see it now.
i didn’t lose a woman—
i lost the shadow of one.
you never really stood beside me.
you just leaned on me
until standing hurt too much.
and when it did?
you left.
quiet.
cold.
unfinished.
so no—
you didn’t destroy me.
you revealed yourself.
and i let go
not because i stopped loving you
but because i finally saw
you were never going to love me
from a place that was whole.