Where I come from

Where I come from,

girls smile through pain,

“be nice,” they say,

even when your voice wants to shout.

Where I come from,

days loop—

school, chores, a job to support a husband,

then marriage, then repeat.

Ambition? A ceiling we’re told not to touch.

But today,

the girl child rises—

not to fit, not to please,

but to roar, to claim, to be.

Where I come from,

we break the pattern,

we break the silence,

we break the chains.

Today,

we are enough,

our dreams are enough,

our voices are enough.