I finally said my peace,
laid my heart on the table
like a fragile glass cup
waiting to see if you would hold it
or watch it fall.
For so long
my feelings lived in a locked room,
quiet, suffocating,
burning slowly like a candle
that nobody noticed melting.
I thought speaking
would be freedom.
I thought truth
would feel like air in my lungs.
But your weak response
thin as paper,
careless as wind
dragged me back
to the storm I had just escaped.
Now the rage
is louder than before.
Maybe silence
would have been kinder to me.
Maybe some feelings
are meant to stay buried,
like letters never sent,
like candles that burn alone
in empty rooms.
And yet
somewhere in the smoke
of everything I said,
I know this much:
A heart that speaks
may break louder,
but at least
it refuses to die quietly.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 6:13 PM UTC
I want things that won’t look at me twice,
things perched just out of reach
like they know my name
but refuse to say it.
I need things I don’t even know how to ask for.
They feel fictional.
Too big for my mouth,
too fragile for my honesty.
Everything is stalled.
My effort.
My growth.
My breath halfway in.
I keep showing up,
but nothing meets me there.
No shift.
No sign.
No reward for trying.
I feel useless
in a world that only applauds motion,
and I am standing still
with tired hands and an empty
head.
Even my creativity abandoned me
left no note,
just this silence
that echoes louder than failure.
I’m not broken.
I’m just paused.
And nobody tells you
how heavy that feels.
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 5:10 PM UTC
Build me up again.
Tear me down.
Split me into a thousand pieces
just to decide
I’m disposable.
Then walk away
like destruction
wasn’t a choice.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC
I am happy,
and it feels suspicious.
Like tomorrow is rehearsing
how to take it away.
So please
don’t pull the rug.
Don’t turn this joy
into a warning sign.
Let happiness be simple.
Let it stay.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 10:45 AM UTC
How can I be addicted
to something that does not like me
something that will never
look at me the way I look at it?
I offer love like proof,
time like devotion,
effort like a prayer
and still, it does not bend.
I sit with it.
I make myself smaller, lighter, funny,
easy to love.
I give everything.
In return, nothing.
And yet I stay,
convinced that if I give one last piece,
one last breath,
it will finally turn and say,
I see you.
But I am screaming at a wall
with no ears,
no mouth,
no intention of answering.
So tell me
how do you let go
of something you’re still trying to convince
to care?
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC
I am in pain I cannot trace,
a hurt without timestamps or warning signs.
I remember the flowers, not the fall.
I remember the light, not the moment it left.
If my mind erased the path here,
please don’t erase me with it.
Loosen my grip on what cuts me.
Teach my hands how to let go
without feeling like I’m losing myself.
Sit with me in this blur.
Be my map when memory fails.
And if healing starts quietly,
let it start today.
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
Isn’t me being here with you enough?
My hellos, my goodbyes,
my soft “Are you okay?”
my tired “How are you feeling today?”
aren’t they enough?
What more do you want from me?
I grind. I tire. I sweat in your shadow,
and still there’s this silence
where your gratitude should live.
Tell me
should I move mountains?
part seas?
trade oceans?
run through a burning world
just to hear you say
you see me?
Because I’ve tried.
God, I’ve tried.
I’ve given you my days,
my nights,
my thoughts that never rest.
I’ve handed you every glance,
every trembling thing behind my eyes,
hoping one day you’d say,
“Stop.
You’ve done enough.”
But you never do.
So I stand here,
with my tired bones
and stretched-thin spirit,
wondering why none of this reaches you.
Why everything I break myself to offer
falls unseen at your feet.
Isn’t my exhaustion a language?
A signal flare?
A cracked whisper begging to be heard?
Why do I keep doing this to myself
pouring from a well
that no one bothers to look into?
I don’t know anymore.
I just know it hurts
to love in the dark,
to give without being met,
to call out
and hear nothing
but my own echo
coming back.
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 2:24 PM UTC
I try.
I show up.
I carry more than I should.
But when the people I’d break for
don’t even blink,
something in me goes quiet.
It’s a small kind of death
the kind where you’re still breathing
but you feel erased.
I’m not asking for praise.
Just to matter.
Just to be seen.
Funny how being unappreciated
can empty you out
faster than anything else.
And still,
here I am,
offering myself again,
hoping this time
someone notices the weight
I never complain about.
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 2:16 PM UTC
You know… it’s funny how life circles back with clarity when you least expect it.
Because there was a time not even that long ago when I swore I understood everything about them. Every mood, every silence, every weird little habit they tried to hide under jokes. I’d look at them and somehow justify it all, like my heart had a whole courtroom dedicated to defending their flaws.
I don’t know if it was love, or delusion, or just loneliness wearing perfume… but I saw everything and nothing at the same time. Like the world between us was covered in fog gentle, warm fog hiding the trees that were slowly dying right in front of me. And I didn’t question it. I just… kept walking.
But distance? Whew. Distance is a brutal truth-teller.
Now that they’re far, gone, really it’s like the fog finally lifted. The whole forest stands there naked and obvious. Every red flag that I treated like a carnival decoration is suddenly screaming, “Girl, how did you miss THIS?”
And I laugh.
Not bitterly. Not angrily.
Just… softly. Like someone who finally woke up from a dream that almost swallowed them whole.
Because now I see it really see it.
They were never mine. And I was never meant to shrink myself enough to fit the idea of who they wanted.
And the wildest part?
The more I talk to them now, the more I realize how misaligned we truly were. How much of myself I bent just to keep the peace. How I learned to read their storms like weather reports… instead of asking why I was always standing in the rain.
But here I am, on the other side, breathing differently.
Clearer.
Lighter.
Almost… reborn.
It’s strange how clarity feels like a second chance at life.
Like I’ve been handed back all the pieces of myself I gave away too cheaply.
And I’m holding them now, whispering, “Never again.”
I’m not angry.
I’m not broken.
I’m just… awake.
And honestly?
It feels divine.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 5:02 AM UTC
Today feels smooth,
like the world decided to glide instead of walk.
But beneath my skin,
anxiousness curls around me like a blanket
too warm to remove,
too familiar to fear.
I keep remembering yesterday,
and the day before that
how everything felt bright,
how every effort looked like a seed
finally learning how to open.
For a moment, I believed in the harvest.
But today, I’m holding anxiety’s hand.
Not by choice,
but the way someone grips a railing
when the floor feels unsure.
I tell myself I’ll let go
by the end of the week,
that this feeling is temporary,
that the storm is brief.
But what if it isn’t?
What if I have to walk with this knot
longer than I planned?
Will the outcome still bloom?
Will the fruit of all my quiet work
finally show its face?
Will everything I prayed for
remember to arrive?
And if it does
will I recognize it?
Will I know, deep down,
that this ache was part of the path,
that this hand I’m holding
wasn’t meant to guide me,
only keep me company
until the light remembers my name?
I ask myself, softly:
Will I get what I’ve earned?
Will all this waiting mean something?
Maybe the answer is already on its way.
Maybe today
is just the breath before the becoming.
Nov 26, 2025
Nov 26, 2025 at 7:24 AM UTC