Member Poem

Ma,
every time the news breaks open a girl’s silence,
I speak.
Not to stir storms but to name the ones we hide.

You flinch.
Not out of anger,
but a mother’s dread dressed as discipline.

You hear my voice
and think of locked doors,
of whispered gossip in kitchens we’ll never visit.
You fear I might leave too soon,
love too wrong,
dream too loud.

But Ma,
when I said a girl should come home
before she hangs her hope 
you heard rebellion.
You saw me as a future wound,
not your reflection in a new frame.

I know you live in fear stitched by others 
in names, rules, rituals you never chose.
You handed your wings to the winds of society
and called it survival.
I understand.

And still,
I chose you.

You think my words bloom from disobedience.
That I speak of freedom
because I’ve fallen in love outside our box of gods.
You worry that my head is filled
with feminism and fire.

But Ma,
I am not what you wish.
I never will be.
Still, I promise you:
I will act like the girl you prayed for.

This loud, stubborn, “so-called feminist” daughter
is ready 
to sacrifice her love,
her standards,
her beliefs,
her life -
for you.

Not because your scoldings broke me down,
but because I chose to love you harder than myself.

You chose the world.
I chose you.
Here is my life -
my every unlived dream folded into obedience -
gift-wrapped in silence
for your smile.

And maybe, Ma,
when we meet again in another birth,
let me be the mother,
and you - the daughter with dreams.

Let me show you a world
where love doesn’t bruise,
where choice doesn’t cost a girl her name,
where you are not afraid of your own fire.

I don’t blame you, Ma,
for the fear you carried like prayer beads.

I may not have lived for myself in this life 
but I won as your daughter.
So go ahead 
tell the world with pride.

Your daughter chose you
over everything.