The Way I Like | Poetry

People keep telling me how I should look,

as if the mirror belongs to them.

They say a girl should stay gentle, polished,

never drift too far into dreams.

And whenever I try embracing individuality,

someone asks me to tone it down,

to come back to their version of “real.”

I’ve seen boys hear the same thing—

don’t cry, don’t falter, don’t flinch.

Even when someone they love is gone,

they’re told to stand like stone.

It chips away at their self worth and confidence,

and honestly, I wonder who decided

that softness was something to fear.

Some days I replay my own mistakes

until they feel heavier than they should.

It’s strange how easy it is

to feel trapped in rules

I never agreed to follow.

And on those quiet, uneasy evenings,

finding yourself again feels like searching

for a door in a house with no lights on.

But then, almost unexpectedly,

my heart says something soft—

a reminder that being true to yourself

isn’t rebellion; it’s survival.

It tells me to start learning to trust yourself,

even if my voice shakes the first few times.

Because maybe the world doesn’t get to decide

what my peace should look like.

So I try—slowly, imperfectly—

finding my own way,

even when the path curves oddly.

I try letting go of expectations

that were handed to me like unwanted gifts.

And somewhere between all the noise

and the small truths I whisper to myself,

I begin living life on my own terms,

not perfectly, but honestly.

And maybe that’s all I really needed—

the quiet courage to remember

that being shaped by others

was never the point.

That being true to yourself

isn’t a destination at all,

but a slow, steady return

to the person I was always meant to be.