No One’s Priority

She did not seek this shadowed truth,
It crept in slow, without sharp proof—
Like a bruise beneath the quiet skin,
Deepening softly, from within.

No storm, no shouts to split the air,
Just the subtle ache of not being there—
Of being passed, overlooked, unseen,
A ghost in the corner where life had been.

She’d made her peace with the background hum,
Filling the spaces when others were numb,
Mending wounds they never confessed,
Loving in silence, giving her best.

Yet something shifted when the words were said,
“You’re not the priority”—they rang in her head.
Not the first time the truth had shown,
But the first time it stood, and claimed its own.

Threads of memory began to unwind,
A pattern too tangled for chance to design.
But this is not where the hope departs—
It is the place where knowing starts.

The woman now, with tea in hand,
Learns her worth is not demand—
Not in the rush of another’s need,
But in the quiet where her soul is freed.

Love is not withheld; it’s redefined,
By the way she shows up, time after time.
No longer waiting to be called in,
But choosing herself, again and again.

And maybe this is how stories turn,
In the gentle places where embers burn—
When the crown is made of the quiet and true,
And the first priority is you.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai