You told me to grow up
like I was the problem.
Like my softness made me weak,
like feeling too much was a sin.
So I grew up
But not for you.
I stopped begging for love,
and started demanding respect.
You wanted a grown-up right?
Here I am-
too sharp for your games,
too strong for your ego,
too much woman for your little world.
You told me to grow up.
So I did.
Now you can’t reach me anymore.
I don’t wait for replies now
I leave when I feel unheard.
I don’t shrink to fit in hearts
that never had space for mine.
I outgrew your silence,
your cold shoulders,
your half-love
and empty promises.
You thought I’d shatter.
But I turned into steel.
You wanted control.
Now you don’t even have access.
You told me to grow up?
Thank you.
Because now-
I see right through you.
And I don’t flinch anymore.