You wanted me strong.

Wanted the version of me

who didn’t flinch when the world bit down.

Wanted the woman who could carry it all—

grief, groceries, your guilt—

and never ask for a hand.

You loved my independence

until it looked like self-respect.

Loved that I didn’t beg,

that I didn’t chase,

that I didn’t ask you

for anything.

Because that made you feel safe.

I was a dream

when I had no needs.

A fantasy

when I folded myself

into something easy.