My Virginity Is A Burden Iv Missax __link__ -

Missax — that ache you left unnamed. That scar shaped like a question mark. You taught me that virginity isn't innocence. It's just unlived life crystallized into a single fragile fact. And facts, when held too long, turn to stone.

Because a burden, even a sacred one, still bends the spine.

They call it a gift, this thing I carry. A ribbon of waiting. A lock without a key yet turned. my virginity is a burden iv missax

And I am so tired of standing so straight just to prove I'm not broken.

Here’s a piece written in a raw, reflective, and deeply emotional tone, as if spoken from the inside of that feeling. Missax — that ache you left unnamed

I have worn this word— virgin —like a second skin. Some days it feels like armor. Most days, it feels like a splinter.

Mine is a room I’ve lived in too long—walls I’ve memorized, a bed still made with hospital corners, dust gathering on the threshold no one crosses. They tell me to be proud. That patience is a kind of power. But power doesn't tremble in the dark wondering if it's still power when no one asks to hold it. It's just unlived life crystallized into a single

I wanted to give it once. Not for love, not for God, not for marriage. Just for me —to stop the counting. To stop the way I flinch when friends laugh about their first times, their bad ones, their funny ones, their strange ones. I have no story. Only a hallway. Only a door I keep polishing instead of opening.