The Girl Love Forgot

By MissT. ( Poem)

Today’s piece is personal.
It’s about the echoes I’ve lived through—family, men, silence, survival.
If it stirs something in you, that’s no accident. We’re not alone in this.

My father left when I was young,
But still his words stay on my tongue.
Not warm, not kind, not full of grace—
Just silence cold, or harsh disgrace.

He gave me help with bitter tone,
Then told me, “Don’t ask—stand alone.”
And so I did—I always do.
But oh, how I had needed you.

At fourteen years, I learned to cry
Without a soul to wonder why.
He’d show up once, then disappear—
But never stayed to hold me near.

He rarely smiled, he rarely tried,
He kept his care locked up inside.
And still, I reached—I always would.
But love was something he withstood.

My mother? She was storm and flame,
And love was wrapped in fear and shame.
She’d raise her hand, she’d mock my face,
Then call it love, then call it grace.

Her fury clung like second skin,
No matter how I tried to win.
She shaped my world with rage and rule—
A mother’s love that cut and cruel.

And men? They came like haunted rain,
With charm, control, and quiet pain.
They liked me dim, they liked me sweet—
Not rising strong, not on my feet.

They’d shrink me down, then say I’m wild,
Too loud, too deep, too hurt, too child.
But I outgrew the chains they gave,
I left their comfort for the brave.

I see it now. I know what’s real—
It’s not my job to make them feel.
I’m not too much, not hard to hold—
I’m fire, and soft, and fierce, and bold.

I am not what they named me, no.
I’m not their shame. I let that go.
I’m not the mess, the blame, the “mad”—
I’m everything they wish they had.

Divorced, damaged—but not done.
Dangerous now because I run
With truth, with voice, with steady flame—
And no one else can write my name.

If this piece speaks to you, you’re not alone.
Some of us were raised in silence, shaped by absence, and taught to chase love that never had room for us.

But here’s the truth:
Just because love didn’t show up the way it should have—
Doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of it now.

We may be the girls love forgot,
But we are also the women who remember ourselves.

Keep rising.
Keep writing.
Keep becoming.

– MissT