I died on an ordinary day.
I died slowly,
in a tidy room,
with white lace curtains
and a little rug by the door.
No one wrapped their hands around my throat.
I suffocated myself.
The little girl inside me,
who never realized she’d grown legs,
still had words lodged in her throat,
swallowed whole,
never chewed.
I died in silence,
like a room
where the lights have gone out
and no one noticed.
No one lit
even the smallest candle.
Not even me.
I died
one atom at a time
every time I said,
“It’s nothing.”
when it was.
Every time I lay down
with my hands neatly folded across my chest
and let them take
my time,
my voice,
my body,
my desire.
It wasn’t a bloody death.
It was a death
made of freshly ironed sheets
and a tired smile.
A domestic death.
In every
“I’m fine.”
In every
“Please don’t be upset…”
In every
“It was my fault.”
I didn’t know
how to leave myself
without screaming.
My body stayed.
My soul had already gone.
I buried myself
beneath layers
of loyalty,
religion,
and shame.
Beneath loose clothes.
Beneath tight clothes.
Beneath overfilled weeks.
Beneath other people’s ideas
of who I was supposed to be.
I died
the moment I confused
love
with obedience,
sacrifice
with identity,
silence
with virtue,
“being a woman”
with
“disappearing beautifully.”
I buried myself
with my own hands.
One shovel full of fear.
One shovel full of guilt.
I covered myself with earth.
Over longing.
Over dreams.
Over truth.
So I wouldn’t be
too much,
too loud,
too alive.
I died
the day they called me good.
When all I ever wanted
was to be real.
There was no wake.
No one came to mourn me.
Because women like me
die quietly.
With to-do lists
beneath their fingernails.
They die wearing lipstick,
biting down on their tongues,
their teeth clenched behind a smile,
careful not to let
their death
become an inconvenience.
But my bones
are beginning to remember
a dance
they never had the chance to dance.
And beneath the earth
that keeps me hidden,
something has begun to beat,
slowly,
but unmistakably.
A YES.
A NO.
A ME.
My death
is not the end.
It is the door.