Titles I Borrowed
When I was little, they said,
“Travel the world after marriage,
see it with your husband,
do this then, do that then.”
As if my feet were only meant to walk
when someone else held the map.
Then I got married.
My in-laws said,
“Why ask for the sky now?
Your own parents never gave you the key.”
And I stood between two doors,
both locked, both blaming the other.
How unfair life is for a daughter.
I am taught to wait.
Then blamed for waiting too long.
Told to be quiet.
Then asked why I never speak.
I don’t know who I am
without the names they gave me.
I am my husband’s wife.
I am my child’s mother.
I am my parents’ daughter.
But strip away the titles…
and there’s just me.
A woman who doesn’t know the sound of her own voice.
I chased protection in marriage,
prayed for love to make a home.
It slipped through my fingers anyway.
I failed as a daughter because I want to leave.
I failed as a wife because peace won’t come.
I fail as a mother because my child won’t eat,
won’t gain weight, won’t stay clean, won’t stay still.
And at night I ask the dark:
If I am not someone’s daughter,
not someone’s wife,
not someone’s mother…
do I still exist?
Is there a place on this earth
that is mine,
with no conditions,
with no performance?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
