Who Would Wear the Crown

If I were to disappear, tell me—
who would inherit my crown?

The crown of disappointment.
The crown of blame.
The one passed down in family sighs, where every fracture finds its way to my name.

I was the sacrifice offered quietly so the house could keep standing.
The second parent before I learned how to be a child.
The therapist before I was ever allowed to break.
The wasted potential.
The difficult one—for daring to look them in the eyes and say, I will not become you.

I wore their anger like a title,
learned its taste in split lips and swallowed words.
I never asked for this throne, built on the ruins of my innocence. But still, I sit here—
because stepping away was never an option.

~Taha