I’m Still Small

 I’m Still Small

My chest is a locked room with no windows,

the air inside keeps running out.

My eyes are swollen from holding storms,

my lips tremble like prayers I never finish,

my head aches from remembering your name

too often, too quietly.

Who decided I must grow up?

Who stole my right to be small?

Who wrote “be strong” on my childhood

without asking if I was ready?

I don’t want to be brave.

I just want to be held.

Now I wear strength like a borrowed dress

it fits, but it doesn’t feel like mine.

They call me independent,

they call me wise,

but inside I am still waiting

for a voice that says,

“Come here, you’ve done enough.”

You don’t know mom’s clothes fit me now.

You don’t know I buy things by myself.

You don’t know my room is full of dolls

because I’m scared of silence.

Pink and red everywhere,

trying to replace one color I lost: you.

I want a photo with you,

just one proof you were real.

I want your arms to remember my weight.

I want to play hide and seek

and pretend you never disappeared.

I miss how you fixed my wrong lyrics,

like you were fixing me too.

I can play your favorite song on the violin now,

but every note sounds like a question:

Can you hear me?

I have trophies, certificates, achievements

my life looks successful on paper.

The cabinet is full,

but the seat beside me is empty.

I grow taller every year,

but the distance between us grows faster.

I changed my habits.

I use pepper now.

I eat less sweet things.

I try to be healthier, wiser, better

as if becoming a better version of me

might bring you back.

I’m sorry I’m still wasteful.

I wish you could scold me.

I miss being corrected,

because at least it meant you were there.

Do you know I’m tired?

Do you know I cry in places

no one can see?

Do you know some nights

I talk to the ceiling

and call it heaven?

Who do I run to when the world is loud?

Who carries my heart when it’s too heavy?

Who hugs the girl

who pretends she’s okay?

I am weak, Dad.

Not in the way people see,

but in the way broken things still try to shine.

I am still that little girl

waiting for the sound of keys,

for footsteps,

for pizza,

for you.

I used to wait for you every night,

pretending I wasn’t sleepy,

counting the hours like prayers,

because my dreams refused to start

before you came home.

You carried me to bed so many times,

my body heavy, my eyes half closed,

but my heart always awake

afraid that if I slept first,

I would lose you even sooner.

Love me again.

Hold me again.

Carry me again.

Teach me how to live

in a world that took you away.

Your Xiaoni

is not strong…