My Virginity Is A Burden Iv — Missax

And now it sits between my ribs—not pure, just unused . Like a letter never mailed. A song never sung into a microphone that might crackle back.

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

Because the truth is sharper: it's not the absence that burdens me. It's the presence. The constant awareness. The way I measure every glance, every almost-touch, every moment I pull back when I wanted to lean in. Not out of virtue. Out of fear. Out of the strange shame of having saved something no one has ever tried to take. my virginity is a burden iv missax

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

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. And now it sits between my ribs—not pure, just unused

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

I want to lay it down. Not dramatically. Not in a poem. Just quietly, on some Tuesday, with someone who doesn't want to take it but simply be there when it falls away like a cloak I never needed. Because a burden, even a sacred one, still bends the spine

I'm not broken. I'm just waiting — and waiting has become its own kind of ghost.