The Spotlight

Momma said, “Stand tall.”

So I did—heels high, voice brighter than sorrow

She fed me the spotlight like dinner,

sweetened with pride, her pride

but hard to swallow.

They clapped for the image,

never the ache they never saw

Never the girl rearranging her soul

to fit the applause.

So I left the light.

Not in anger, not in shame, not in collapse—

I chose the hush.

The grace of going unseen

so I could finally see myself.

Invisibility became my mirror,

not to vanish in my sadness

but to heal

without an audience.

Momma still shines.

I trace her brilliance in my sleep,

but write my name

in lowercase

stepping back, disappearing for now.

Fade to black.