The Daughter You know

It about a girl that carries so much anger in her but still pretend to smile

The Daughter You Don’t Know

You don’t know me.
Not really.

You know the version
that stays quiet,
that follows rules,
that doesn’t cause problems.
You left when I was young.
I understand why —
everyone says I should.

But understanding
doesn’t stop the anger
from sitting in my chest
like it belongs there.

I know I wasn’t expected.
I know I arrived
at the wrong time,
in the wrong moment.

I learned early
how to feel like a mistake
without anyone ever saying it.

Now I live carefully.
Watching your moods.
Watching my words.
Shrinking myself
so I don’t make you angry,
so I don’t become
another thing you regret.

You don’t see me
when I’m hurting.
You don’t notice
when I’m falling apart.
You don’t see
how many times
I’ve said sorry
just to keep the peace —
even when I wasn’t wrong,
even when I didn’t mean it,
just so the silence
would stop feeling so loud.

All you see
is the “good daughter.”
You don’t see
how angry she really is.
How exhausted.
How she fakes smiles
until they feel glued to her face.

How she hates herself
for feelings
she was never allowed to have.

Everything stays inside —
in my head,
in my heart —
where the screaming is quiet
and the crying goes unnoticed.
I needed help.
I still do.

But you never listen.
You never look close enough.
You miss every sign
because you only see
what makes life easier for you.
And I’m left carrying all of this,
alone,
wondering if you’ll ever know
who I really am —
or if I’ll always just be
the version of me
that keeps the peace
at my own expense.