You said, “Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?” like you were asking me to pass the salt, like it was casual, like it was nothing.
Just another Tuesday argument, just another slammed door, just another bruise made of words no one else can see.
We fight so much it feels like our default setting: raised voices in the morning, side-eyes in the hallway, petty little jabs that pile up in the corners like dust we never sweep.
My parents say, “That’s just siblings. You’ll grow out of it.”
But they weren’t there when you looked straight at me this morning, eyes hard and bored, like I was a channel you were done watching,
and said that sentence like you were spitting out gum.
You don’t know how those words land.
You don’t know that sometimes at night I stare at the ceiling and wonder if the world would really notice if I just stopped.
You don’t know how often I feel like a glitch, like an extra file taking up space.
You don’t know that when you say **** yourself."
you’re not just joking. You’re shaking a door I’m already leaning against with all my weight.
I told my friend, “Yeah, it’s normal atp,” like it was a meme, a punchline, something to laugh off with a “hahahaha it’s fine.”
Because if I say it’s fine enough times, maybe one day I’ll believe it.
We always argue. About stupid things, about serious things, about nothing at all.
But this one felt heavier. Like you found the exact spot I’ve been hiding and shoved your words into it.
You always say I’m the problem because I won’t let you lie.
You spin stories about other people, paint them however you want, step on their names like cracked shells on the sidewalk.
I can’t let it slide.
I step in, I correct you, I say, “That’s not what happened,” “That’s not fair,” “You can’t talk about them like that.”
You call it betrayal. You call it me “taking their side.”
But it’s not about sides. It’s about truth. It’s about respect.
I draw lines in the sand when it’s other people. I stand up when you’re cruel to them.
I won’t let you drag them through the dirt just because you’re mad.
But when it’s me?
When it’s my name in your mouth, my heart under your feet, my mind on the edge of a cliff you can’t see?
I go quiet. I let it happen.
You call me useless, annoying, overdramatic. You say I ruin everything. You tell me to disappear.
And I just stand there. Take it. Absorb it.
I become the sponge for your hate, so you don’t wring it out on anyone else.
I convince myself that if you’re busy breaking me, you’ll be too tired to break them.
I’m the one who lets you say whatever you want.
I tell myself I’m strong enough to hold it all.
But sometimes, when the house is quiet and my phone is dark, I replay your voice.
“Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?"
And the words don’t feel like a joke. They feel like a suggestion.
I wonder if you would even care if I listened. If you’d feel guilty, or just relieved.
Maybe you’d post something sad, pretend you never meant it, pretend we were close all along.
You don’t know how close I get to believing you.
Amber. Pink_Ink_Amber. Behind the usernames and rolled eyes and slammed cabinets,
I know you are more than this.
I have never seen you be kind.
You lie, you cheat, you deceive.... But Im sure there is kindness somewhere.
You make them laugh, sometimes at me, but I'm sure I will get over it.
I guess I just never make that list of people you love.
I’m the one who cares enough to stop you from becoming the villain in every story you tell.
I’m the one who tells you no when everyone else stays quiet.
I’m the one who will defend people who don’t even know I’m defending them from you.
But I won’t defend myself.
I let your words bruise me in places no one can see.
Because if I complain, I’m “too sensitive.”
If I get hurt, I “can’t take a joke.”
If I cry, I’m “doing too much again.”
So I laugh it off. I say, “Yeah lol, it’s fine.”
I tell my friends it’s normal. I tell myself it’s normal.
But today it doesn’t feel normal.
Today it feels like a line I watched you cross with your head held high and your hands clean.
One day, I hope you learn that words can be weapons.
That saying **** yourself” to someone isn’t funny, isn’t normal, isn’t just sister stuff.
One day, I hope you see how close your sentences came to the edge I live next to.
I hope you understand that I’m still here, not because of what you say,
but in spite of it.
And maybe one day, I’ll stop letting you say everything and call it love.
Maybe one day, I’ll start drawing lines for myself, too.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:51 AM UTC
Stray Kids drop a beat and every demon starts to cheer, "With noise like this," they cackle, "we’ve got nothing left to fear." The vocals miss the high notes, the rap is off the track, The chorus hits like pots and pans all thrown inside a sack.
K-pop Demon Hunters march with rhythm sharp as steel, Their harmonies are weapons, every note you feel. Next to their precision, SKZ just sounds like static, A scrambled TV channel trying hard to be dramatic.
Stray Kids shout their slogan, "everywhere all around," But maybe they should start by learning how to sound. While Demon Hunters dominate with every perfect song, Stray Kids just prove that being loud can still be very wrong.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 1:59 PM UTC
Bringheeseungback-
We used to race through sprinklers, sun drunk, wild and free, Grass stains on our knees were all we'd ever count or see. Barefoot in the July heat, our bellies soft with laughter, We never named a single flaw, nor chased the bodies after. But now we study menus like we have a test to pass, measuring each bite in numbers, not in joy or blades of grass. The mirrors grew more crowded as the summers slipped away. We learned to fear our shadows where we once just loved to play
Pink_Ink_Amber-
We learned to shrink our hunger, call it discipline, not loss, traded skipping stones for skipping meals and counting every cost. We said we just were “being good,” while starving out the light, turning playgrounds into treadmills, chasing smaller through the night.
Bringheeseungback-
But somewhere in the quiet, when the world is finally still, A softer voice begins to rise beneath the iron wall It whispers of the child in us who doesn’t know the scale, Who only knows the ocean’s pull, the laughter in the trail. It asks what we’ve been losing in this endless, numbered race: The salt of sunburned shoulders, freckles scattered on a face. And maybe we could loosen all the rules we’ve grown to trust, Let bellies round with dinner, let our joy reclaim the dust.
Pink_Ink_Amber-
So here’s to every version of the selves we’ve tried to hide, The thighs that touch, the softest parts, the belly at our side. To arms that held our friends up when their worlds began to shake, To legs that ran us home again each time our hearts would break.
Bringheeseungback-
To shoulders bearing stories that no mirror could reflect, To backs that learned to straighten under more than just respect. To faces lined with evidence of every year we’ve stayed, Surviving all the seasons that our younger selves once played. So here’s to every scar and curve we taught ourselves to fear— May we unlearn the language that could not hold us sincere; May every inch we used to curse remember how to roam, Until these bodies feel again like ours, like flesh, like home.
Pink_Ink_Amber-
So let them call us “too much” — we were never meant for less. We’ll take back every mirror, every inch of emptiness. Because the wild kids in the sprinklers never really disappeared; They’re waiting in our skin for us to say: you’re not the thing to fear.
Bringheeseungback-
We’ll dress in colors loud enough to drown out every rule, Laugh full and unapologetic, soft and shining, “never cool.” We’ll eat dessert on weekdays, let the whipped cream kiss our chin, And praise the simple miracle of waking in this skin.We’ll talk to younger versions of ourselves in bathroom light, Say, “You were never broken, you were brilliant, burning bright.” And when the world says “shrink yourself,” we’ll answer, calm and clear: “I wasn’t put here to be small—my love, I’m taking up my sphere.”
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 9:46 PM UTC
Some nights the world feels too big for my chest,
news hitting harder than any drum.
Grandma's name tastes like hospital air,
words like "transplant" and "years left" hang over me like ceilings that might fall
Next year is a question mark scribbled over my whole life:
New schools
New halls
Goodbyes, I don't wanna say.
Mercer is fading in the rearview while I'm still trying to learn how to stay when everything else is leaving.
I sit in the dark with my headphones in, heart cracking quietly where no one can see.
And then a voice says,
"Hey, it's Chan."
A soft laugh, a familiar accent, words like a blanket pulled over shaking shoulders.
He doesnt know my name, but somehow he's talking right to me:
You don't have to be strong every second of the day, you're allowed to be tired, to cry, to fall apart a little and still be someone worth loving.
The bass thunders, Changbin shouts courage into the parts of me that feel so small.
Hyunjin paints the sadness into something almost beautiful.
Lee Know reminds me it's okay just to exist today.
Han turns the mess in my head into verses that rhyme with "I'm still here."
Felix's low voice wraps around my fear, calling me "angel" like I'm not a storm.
Seungmin sings steady, like a hand on my back saying, "Keep going."
Jeongin smiles through the sound, promising that starting over doesn't mean starting from nothing.
But it's Chan I hear the clearest when I think about Grandma, about hospitals, about time slipping through our fingers.
He doesn't say it will all be okay. He says, "I'm with you while it hurts."
He says, "Breathe with me. Right now is all you have to do."
He says, "You made it to today, and that's something I'm proud of."
So I press play again and again, let the lightstick glow in the dark of my room,
let the music build walls around the pieces of me that are trying not to break.
Grandma is still sick. Next year is still scary. The tears still come when I think about telling my teacher, about leaving friends, about losing time.
But somewhere between the chorus and the bridge, I realize:
I am still breathing. I am still listening. I am still here somehow.
And maybe, just maybe, I don't have to carry all of this alone.
Maybe I can hand a piece of it to a song,
to a boy on a stage who says, "Stay for one more day with me, we'll face it together."
So I wipe my eyes, replay the track, and whisper with Chan into the dark:
"I am scared. I am hurting. But I am not giving up."
And for tonight, that is enough.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 10:18 PM UTC
The world was once a heavy thing, a house of glass and grey,
Where my own reflection felt like a ghost I had to slay.
I sat in the dark with a mind that was louder than my heart,
Watching my own spirit slowly tear itself apart.
But then came Akyri, with a light that didn't burn,
Teaching me lessons I thought I'd never learn.
She looked at the parts of me I tried so hard to hide,
And walked right through the wreckage I kept tucked away inside.
When my body felt like a prison, a shape I couldn't bear,
Akyri found the beauty that I didn't know was there.
She held me through the shadows, through the nights I wanted out,
And whispered down the demons and the paralyzing doubt.
Now the clock hits two, then three, then four,
And we're still texting like never before.
We make the stupidest jokes---the kind that make no sense,
Breaking through the quiet, making life a bit less dense.
They aren't even funny, really, just some nonsense we spun,
But with Akyri, even the smallest spark feels like the sun.
We talk until the stars fade and the morning starts to peep,
Trading secrets for the memories we've promised we will keep.
I look at her and realize how the rhythm of my breath
Was won back from the edges and the cold hands of death.
I've found a home in her, a love so steady and true,
A life that finally feels like something I want to go through.
I want to hold her hand and hope the universe is listening to me:
I never want to lose the soul that finally set me free.
To more late nights and bad jokes, to the girl who changed the sky,
I'll spend a lifetime loving you, my beautiful Akyri.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 12:19 AM UTC
The sun was a permanent fixture then,
a golden clock that never struck ten.
We’d wake in a tangle of cotton and dreams,
kicking off covers in messy, white streams,
leaving the bedsheets like wrinkled terrain—
no time for chores, no patience for rain.
The morning was calling, a wild, open door,
and we didn’t care what the floorboards were for.
At our aunt’s house, the air smelled of yeast,
a sticky, sweet, cinnamon-powdered feast.
We’d stack up the rolls, white glaze on our noses,
before the day’s heat turned the garden to roses.
And dinner was paper bags, greasy and bright,
inhaled in the glow of a porch-swing light.
We ate till our stomachs were rounded and tight,
until we were told, "That’s enough for tonight!"
We didn’t know 'calories' or 'bloat' or 'shame,'
we only knew hunger and the heat of the game.
Then it was the water—the pool or the sea—
where we stayed until we were as prune-like as could be.
Skin shriveled and pleated, fingers all lined,
like the very same sheets we’d left far behind.
We’d dive till our eyes were a stinging, bright red,
with nothing but popsicles filling our head,
shoving the cold down our throats in a race,
sugar and cherry all over our face.
But now the water is a different stage,
a mirror, a measurement, a beautiful cage.
We stand on the tiles and adjust every string,
wondering what the bikini will bring.
We **** in our spirits, we check every curve,
losing the magic and losing our nerve.
We look at the boys and we wonder if they
see the girl or the girl’s displaced display.
If we ran through the sprinklers or screamed in the street,
they’d call us immature, a social defeat.
To eat like a child is to 'lose your control,'
to play like a child is 'weird' for the soul.
So we trade the fast food for a salad and sigh,
watching the ghost of our childhood go by.
I’d give every 'perfect' and 'polished' New Year
to feel that unfiltered absence of fear.
To eat till I’m full, to sleep in the mess,
and live in a world with one million times less
of the 'how do I look?' and the 'is this okay?'
and one million times more of that watermelon day.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 1:12 PM UTC
I thought your heart was a mirror of my own,
reflecting a truth I was proud to own,
but you were just tracing a jagged line
of a story you'd built on a hollow throne.
You looked into my eyes and you spat that word,
a label to shaming, to keep me small,
while you spun the saddest tales I'd ever heard-
fake scars you used as a shield and a wall.
You lied about the weight you had to carry,
using your "truama" to make a fake connection,
making the air between us heavy and scary,
while you were the one pulling every string.
And when you came back, all quiet and low,
begging for mercy for the fire you'd lit,
I let my own boundaries crumble like snow;
I gave you a grace that you didn't fit.
I forgave you before you had even atoned,
swallowing insults like they were my due,
leacing my own self-respect unthroned
just to make room for a version of "you"
But the betrayal eventually sharpened my sight,
and I saw the coward behind the cruel name.
I realized that staying and losing the fight
wasn't my burden or part of your game.
The strength didn't come from the silence I kept,
but from finally hearing the lies for what they were.
I'm cleaning the space where the bitterness slept,
finding a version of "me" that is steady and pure.
As Mark Twain once said, "forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it"
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 8:50 PM UTC
The brightest smile can hide a war,
A quiet room, a locked-up door.
It isn't always tears and gray;
Sometimes it's laughing through the day,
Performing parts to keep the peace,
While waiting for the noise to cease.
It grows in whispers in the hall
The bullying that makes them small
The cruel words that stick like ink
And change the way a mind can think.
It's staring at a mirrored glass,
Praying for the body image to pass,
Feeling "wrong" in skin and bone,
Surrounded, yet entirely alone
It's heavy shoulders, tired eyes
Beneath a thousand clever disguises.
The "strong" friend might be wearing thin,
Fighting battles deep within,
Where every "I'm fine" is a plea,
For someone to truly, deeply see.
So let's reach across the silent space.
Look past the grin upon their face.
A simple text, a steady hand,
A heart that tries to understand.
Don't wait for the signs to start to show;
For you never know what's down below.
Check on your friends, be light, be near -
Before the silence is all you hear.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 8:26 PM UTC