I had painted in my mind a less ill-fated future. However, I forgot that sometimes, dark stains—persistent mistakes or stigma—always remain. You run, hide, fight, and temporarily escape. But, at the end of all of it, you are still shamed. You pour blood, sweat, and heart for all, but you never find your glowing soul, your true inner light. Hidden under the veils of shock and shame, you sometimes wonder if you are what they call the bane, the root of misfortune. You grind your desires in fairy dust—making your dreams seem magical and unreal—and feed them to the winds, letting them be carried away. You pray for just a normal day. The wish to walk on fewer eggshells and the hope to avoid being silenced again by more guilt. You send blessings to others so that the universe accepts you wholeheartedly, and maybe, for once, you will lift your chin and trust your inner sanctity. But how do you forget, ‘oh, cursed women’? Thy existence is not for your own dream. You fail every time you work diligently to win your bread, but you always win when you feed others your flesh. Every fantasy crushed, every wish gone; I wonder how long I have lost my song. Like a dried, wooden bark—lifeless and drifting—I float, left only with the scars and the sighs of my innocent, pocketful dreams.
