When I was little,
I thought I’d grow up
and become someone
that glittered.

Not famous.
Not rich.
Just soft.
Just full of light.
Someone who laughed without flinching
and felt safe in her own skin.
Someone who saved the day
and got to sleep through the night.

I thought growing up
meant choosing your favorite ice cream
at midnight,
meant late-night dances in the kitchen,
meant freedom with a ribbon tied around it.

I didn’t know
it meant silence in hospital beds
and scars you don’t show.

I didn’t know
that being alive would ever feel
so close to being lost.

I didn’t imagine this.

When I was nine,
I made wishes on stars.
I believed in fairy godmothers,
second chances,
and that every sad ending
was just a chapter
before the miracle.

But my miracle must’ve gotten stuck somewhere
between foster care statistics
and the wrong people with the wrong intentions,
between school hallways
and rooms where no one listened
until I screamed.

I didn’t think
growing up meant learning
how to be quiet enough
to stay safe.

Didn’t think it meant
counting calories
and skipped meals
and mistakes you can’t scrub off.

Didn’t think
it would be this hard
to get out of bed
on a Tuesday.

No one told me
that sometimes the monsters win.
And they don’t have fangs
or claws—
just names and job titles
and the ability
to be believed.

The girl I used to be
wouldn’t recognize me now.
She’d ask why I stopped painting,
why I’m always tired,
why I never dance in the kitchen anymore.
She’d ask
what happened to magic.
And I wouldn’t know
how to answer.

Because I don’t want to tell her
that sometimes the world
breaks you
before you have the words
to explain the damage.

That sometimes
you survive things
so dark
you can’t ever go back
to who you were
before.

And I don’t want to see her face
when I say that dreams
don’t come true
just because you want them to.

That no matter how bright your heart is,
there are places so cold
even hope shivers.

But still—
I hope she never stops wishing.
Because I don’t know who I’d be
if I didn’t remember
how she used to believe.

And sometimes,
on quiet nights,
I still look up
at the same stars
and wonder
if maybe
she’s still in there somewhere.

If maybe
there’s still time
to become someone
she’d be proud of.