A poem for the "strong one"

The Ache That Never Leaves

There were no parents.

Not really.

Just people who should have been soft

and weren’t.

People who called it love

but never looked long enough

to see me.

I grew up too fast

not out of brilliance,

but necessity.

Someone had to keep things together,

and no one else would.

So I became the adult,

the caretaker,

the one who didn’t break.

Now everyone tells me I’m so capable.

So strong.

They say it like it’s a compliment,

but I hear it as a scar.

They don’t see the rage underneath

the fury at their smallness,

their cowardice,

their inability to give

what should have been mine by birthright.

There’s a grief so deep

it hums through my bones

a grief for a childhood

that never happened,

for arms that never opened,

for the version of me

that never got to rest.

And no matter how much I heal,

there’s a part of me that knows

the ache will always live here

a quiet echo of what never was.

No one can fill it.

No one can fix it.

It’s just the cost

of surviving without a place to fall.

By Jennifer Grindon