Part one: Microscopic
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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