This Door Doesn’t Swing Anymore” By MissT – daughter, survivor, cycle-breaker

You gave me life, but never love,
Just cold hands, sharp words, and the back of a glove.
I learned young that safety was something you fake,
And mothers can smile while their daughters break.

You called it discipline—I called it fear,
And I wore your shame like a coat for years.
My bruises faded, but not what you said,
It still echoes some nights when I lie in my bed.

I tried to save you—from bottles and blame,
From keys in your hand when you shouldn’t have came.
You drove drunk with rage, and when I said “Stop,”
You gave me a black eye and dared me to drop.

Ran to my Dad and said look at my eye

Tears were streaming, as I said goodbye,

He said your brother is fine and not hurt

You must have said something and got just desserts.

You called me difficult, too wild, too loud
But I was the truth you couldn’t allow.
I didn’t break—I bent to survive,
But I’ve walked through that fire and come out alive.

And when I had kids? I made you a vow
Not spoken in words, but in how I live now.
No slamming doors, no hands that sting,
No fear in the voice when my boys ask a thing.

I didn’t want that for them—your rage, your cold glare,
That walk-on-eggshells kind of air.
I wanted laughter in kitchens, joy in their bones,
Not children who flinch in their own damn homes.

I held them through storms I never deserved,
Even when empty, I still always served.
Some nights I broke, but I broke in their light
And I never once made them the source of my fight.

And he believed you—my own blood, my kin,
Fed on your lies with a guilt-ridden grin.
You painted me wicked, too wild, too cruel,
And he played the part like a puppet , a fool.

He never saw through it, never asked why,
Just swallowed your story and left me to cry.
You built your defence with a mother’s disguise,
And he picked his side while I broke on both sides.

I didn’t just lose you—I lost him too,
And the hole that left? It still bruises through.
But I won’t beg brothers or cling to false ties
I cut off the roots that were choking my rise.

No more rewriting what you never said,
No more dreams of a hug that I had to beg
The little girl hoping is gone—she grew claws,
And now she names pain, and makes her own laws.

I don’t hate you. But I don’t forgive.
I simply decided I deserved to live.
And if that means leaving the past on the floor
Then so be it. That door won’t swing anymore.

No “maybe she’s sorry.” No final scene.
No redemptive speech on a TV screen.
No flowers, no guilt, no soft, shaky cries
Just a woman who’s done swallowing lies.

I was never the broken one.
I was the centre of your spite
The reason for nightmares. And no sleep at night

This isn’t a poem. It’s a eulogy for blame.
For the last time, I’m walking away from your name.
Let the door stay shut, let the echo be small
I owe you nothing.
I’m done with it all.

Outro:

Some doors stay closed—for good reason.This piece wasn’t written for sympathy. It wasn’t written for reconciliation.It was written because silence weighs more than truth ever will.If parts of this land heavy, they should.But healing doesn’t always wear soft edges—it sometimes comes with sharp lines and locked doors.I share this not to shame, but to release.For every daughter who tried to fix the unfixable.For every child made to carry blame they never earned.For anyone who chose to break the cycle—even when it broke their heart.This is peace. This is power. This is mine. —MissT

Xx