Daughter of an Immigrant

I don’t belong here.
And I never truly belonged there.
Not with them…
Not even with myself.

My accent is soft,
But my silence is loud.
Louder than the words I never learned to say.
Louder than the dreams I buried to survive.

There’s a war inside me.
It doesn’t wear uniforms,
But it leaves me wounded all the same.

And just when I try to reach for peace,
The whispers return
“Should I save myself?”
“No… I should save them first.”

Because I was taught early,
That love meant sacrifice.
That honour looked like endurance.

I wear a cloak
Not of pride,
But of quiet disappointment.
It doesn’t shine,
But it keeps me warm
On the days I feel invisible.

Delusioned by what my purpose is,
I scroll past answers
Searching for the one that feels like home…
But home is a memory
I never got to make.

Please don’t ask me what I wanted to be.
I was too busy becoming
What everyone needed me to be.

All I ever wanted…
Was to make them proud.
To see them smile in the crowd.
To hear, “That’s my daughter.”
To be enough
In a world that never let me feel whole.

So I carry both stories
The one I live,
And the one they left behind.

I am the bridge
Between survival and hope.
I am the daughter of an immigrant
Raised on sacrifice,
Fed by silence,
Growing into a voice
That finally speaks.