A Little Girl

There was once a little girl

playing in her bedroom.

dreaming.

laughing.

feeling.

 

But now she’s screaming

because she will never be this beaming again.

 

She’s forced to be quiet

to be small

to fit in

 

“Don’t be dramatic”

“Don’t be so emotional”

“Don’t seek for attention”

they say.

 

She’s starts noticing things –

How the same confidence sounds different

depending on who speaks.

How being loud is admired in some

but corrected in her.

How she learns to check the clock,

the street,

the way home –

not once, but twice.

How the “stay safe” her mom said

only got told to her but not to her brother.

She needs to turn a clear “no”

into something softer, safer

something less likely to be questioned.

 

She learns

that effort doesn’t always mean outcome

that being good is something not enough

that being better still doesn’t guarantee being seen.

 

But why?

 

She doesn’t remember when it started.

It just did.

 

And now she remembers her room.

The place where she was loud

where she was limitless

where she didn’t have to shrink to fit in

where she just could be herself.

 

And somewhere deep inside

she starts to wonder

why being “equal” still

feels like something

she has to earn.