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I was five

You were fire in the hallway

Breathing my name like a curse

Not a child

By the door you almost kicked through

I learned exits

Before I learned to spell

You were supposed

To be the roof in the rain

I memorized

Where the sharp things were instead

You wanted a son to carry on your name

But you got me

Just a daughter

Just a problem you could blame

But you got me

I had to grow up fast in a house full of glass

Walking past your thunder

You wanted a son

But I survived

I’m your daughter

Not your ghost

Not your pride

I packed bags

With my favorite blue T-shirt

And a secret map

To the neighbor’s porch light

Counted cracks

On the ceiling like a prayer

Every slam of your door

Aged me five more years

You said love With your teeth Not your hands

I learned softness from strangers

Not from you

You wanted a son to carry on your name

But you got me

Just a daughter

Just a mirror for your shame

But you got me

I had to grow up fast in a house full of glass

Learning where the floor might shatter

You wanted a son

But I’m still here

I’m your daughter

Not your ghost

Not your fear

One day I’ll sign

A place that’s only mine

No echoes of your shouting in the walls (no more)

My name on the door

Not yours anymore

I break the line you thought would own us all

You wanted a son to carry on your name

But you got me

And I’m building something kinder from the pain

Yeah

You got me

I had to grow up fast

But the worst of it passed

I’m the future you can’t touch or alter

You wanted a son

But I’m alive

I’m your daughter

Not your ghost

I’m your daughter

And I cut the rope this time