They tell her, stay inside,

wrapped in walls built by their fears,

whispering warnings— it’s dangerous out there,

but she sees through the veil of their lies.

It’s not the world that’s cruel,

it’s them—

the ones who hold the leash,

who domesticate, who dictate,

who carve her role in stone and call it love.

They say, relax,

but how can she,

when her hands are full of invisible labor,

when the weight of a home rests upon her back,

when the walls echo with chores that never end?

She is the silent architect of comfort,

the ghost who cleans, cooks, and keeps them fed,

while they roam free, chasing coins and excuses.

And when they return—

oh, how they demand,

worship for mere existence,

admiration for simply showing up.

They call her ungrateful,

a woman never satisfied—

projection, deflection, deception.

A man is made by a woman’s hands,

yet they claim divinity,

blind to the irony, deaf to the truth.

Society bows to them,

but she sees them—

not gods, not kings, not warriors—

just frightened boys in borrowed power,

playing at leadership with empty hearts.

They chase what is easy,

what is shallow,

mistaking lust for love,

mistaking control for connection.

They do not see a real woman,

for a real woman does not sparkle under their gaze,

she burns, she glows from within.

She feels souls, not faces.

And when she leaves—

when she runs so far

that their names become whispers lost in the wind—

it is then that they understand love,

too late, too late.

By then, she has become untouchable,

hardened yet whole,

a phoenix risen from the ashes they tried to bury her in.

She has seen what true self-hatred looks like.

She has witnessed a man destroy himself

just to avoid facing his own reflection.

And in the wreckage, she found herself again—

lost, then found,

shaken, then steady,

torn, then whole.

Now she walks alone,

not because she has no love,

but because solitude is safer than false intimacy.

They call her cold, distant,

but they do not know the battles she fought,

the war she survived.

She is not bitter.

She is not broken.

She is free.

#Unshackled #BreakingChains #RiseAbove #selflovejourney #HealingThroughPain #Knowyourworth #EmotionalFreedom #breakingthecycle #StrengthInSolitude #ReclaimYourPower #SilentBattles #AuthenticLiving #NoMoreIllusions #DeepHealing