I grew up holding keys not mine,
open doors… but I stayed inside.
Tired hands, a childhood gone,
playing mother before I was one.
Plates not mine, names that weigh,
my voice silent while others stayed.
I was the shadow, I was the hands,
doing all they wouldn’t stand.
Now that I let go… they pull me back,
say I’ve changed, say I lack.
But no…
it wasn’t love, it was a cage,
silent nights, a borrowed age.
It wasn’t home, it was a role,
I was never in control.
And if I leave…
they say someone changed me,
but I’m just finally free.
Late, broken… but still me.
They blame the wind that touches my skin,
blame the world I’m walking in.
But the cage was always there,
I just learned to see it clear.
I don’t want to die…
I just don’t want to live like this,
tied to a life I didn’t pick.
If I fade into the night,
it’s not surrender… it’s escape.
No…
it wasn’t love, it was a cage,
my whole life trapped on a page.
Even if it breaks me apart,
I choose the world… I choose my heart.
And if they look… I won’t be there,
the one who stayed… disappeared.
@newgirldark
-
Autor:
NewGirlDark (Seudónimo) (
Offline) - Publicado: 4 de abril de 2026 a las 14:52
- Comentario del autor sobre el poema: This piece isn’t about one moment… it’s about years of silence, roles I never chose, and a life that felt borrowed. Some people call it change when you finally speak, but sometimes it’s just awakening. Not every home feels like a home. Not every love feels like love. This is not a goodbye… it’s the beginning of becoming someone I was never allowed to be.
- Categoría: Gótico
- Lecturas: 22
- Usuarios favoritos de este poema: Mauro Enrique Lopez Z., Éusoj Nidlaj, Salvador Santoyo Sánchez, LOURDES TARRATS, Poesía Herética, Sergio Alejandro Cortéz, Blake_2010
- En colecciones: Poems.
Offline)
Comentarios3
I'm a dark poet, and I sail in the shadows, I don't want light, Let me sleep!
Greetings poet
Greetings, poet.
Some souls were born to write beneath the moon instead of the sun. The shadows also hold beauty, silence, and truth… and poets like us know how to turn them into words.
May your darkness always protect your art, never destroy your heart. 🖤
My dear new friend,
Your poem carries a quiet kind of courage—the kind that doesn’t shout, but trembles and still speaks. You’ve put into words what so many live through in silence: a childhood taken too early, a love that was never love, a life shaped by expectations you never chose.
There is so much strength in the way you name the cage.
Not with anger, not with bitterness, but with honesty.
That honesty is its own kind of freedom.
The way you describe holding keys that weren’t yours, opening doors for others while staying locked inside yourself… it’s heartbreaking, and yet it shows how deeply you’ve always cared, even when no one cared for you in return.
And when you say “I don’t want to die… I just don’t want to live like this,”
I hear not despair, but a longing for a life that finally belongs to you.
A life chosen, not assigned.
A life where your voice isn’t the one that disappears.
You deserve that life.
You deserve gentleness.
You deserve a world where freedom isn’t something you have to apologize for.
Leaving the cage—seeing it for what it was—is not betrayal.
It’s awakening.
And choosing your heart, even late, even broken, is not weakness.
It’s the beginning of becoming whole.
I’m here, reading you with respect, with tenderness, and with the certainty that your truth matters.
You are not fading.
You are emerging.
Keep on going, girlfriend, you deserve it.
Many hugs and tender care, because:
POETS WE ARE, INDEED.
Dear Lourdes,
Thank you so much for your beautiful words. Honestly, your comment touched my heart deeply. Sometimes it’s hard to put pain into words, but knowing someone truly understood the meaning behind them makes me feel less invisible.
I wrote that poem from a very honest place, and your kindness gave warmth to something that once felt very lonely.
Your words about the cage, freedom, and becoming whole… I will remember them for a long time.
Thank you for reading me with such tenderness and humanity.
Many hugs to you too, and yes…
POETS WE ARE, INDEED. 🖤
Yes, dear friend,
POETS WE ARE, INDEED....
I love your words, you express something a lot of people feel. Thanks for that awesome poem, it really made me feel seen. Not every poem has to be of love.
Thank you so much for your words. Knowing that my poem made you feel seen means more to me than I can explain. Sometimes poetry is not about romance, but about surviving, feeling, healing, and saying the things people are afraid to say out loud.
I’m truly glad my words reached your heart. 🖤
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