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I made myself microscopic, to fit in their pockets, so they could pull me out only when they needed something fixed. I learned to fold my edges, to stop scratching, to stop taking up space, to hold myself quiet, pliable, small. I became a tool, a shadow, a body that existed only in the shape they required. I forgot what it felt like to move freely, to take up space without thinking I was too much. Sometimes I wanted to scream, but I folded the sound inside, pressed it into my chest so no one would feel the weight of what I carried. Sometimes my voice felt borrowed, like it belonged to someone else, and I was only the body that moved when they needed me. Sometimes I let myself feel it— the hollow spaces I carried inside, the parts of me I tucked away so no one would be burdened by how much I took up. I counted every gesture, every word, every laugh, measuring how small I could be so they wouldn’t notice that I was here. I became skilled at disappearing, at giving everything and never being seen for anything that was mine. I don’t want to be her again— the girl who disappears, so they can feel comfortable, the one who shrinks herself to be useful, not loved. —to be continued— Part two is called 'finally wanted'.

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