Between Duty and Dream

I live somewhere
between duty and danger
between the woman who steadies the room
and the girl who once dreamed of leaving it.

Responsibility found me early,
sat heavy on my shoulders
like a pot left too long on the stove
still feeding everyone,
but burning at the edges where no one looks.

Stability was always spoken of
like a distant city,
somewhere you could arrive
if you just kept walking right.

But I learned roads differently.
I was the one with directions
etched into my spirit,
the one who trembled quietly
while mapping escape routes
for everybody else.

Not the kind of saving
they write songs about
no violins, no slow motion miracles.
Just breath held steady,
just “we gon’ make it through tonight,”
just survival stretched
thin across another dawn.

And when I grew
when the world called me woman
and handed me the illusion of choice
I thought I could finally
choose myself.

Thought I could slip out softly,
leave the weight folded on the table
like a letter unsigned,
and go chase the life
that had been whispering my name.

But leaving them
felt like leaving my own reflection.
They were my everything
and my nothing
the root and the ache,
the reason and the restraint.

So I stayed.
Even as time did what time does
returned some to the soil,
let others fade like old songs
we can’t quite finish anymore.

And here I am
still standing
in the quiet after.

Still breathing.
Still searching.

Still that girl
with a map in her hands
and no clear road ahead

knowing how to get everyone home
but not yet knowing
the way
to myself.