People always talk about neglected children.
The empty houses.
The missed dinners.
The parents who were never there.
But they never talk about the other kind.
The ones who are always there.
The ones who blur the lines
until you can’t tell
where they end
and you begin.
You are them.
They are you.
There is no difference.
No space.
No quiet corner
where you get to exist alone.
You sit.
You smile.
You become
your parents’ best friend,
their reflection,
their proof that everything is fine.
They call it safety.
They call it trust.
They call it love.
But slowly,
quietly,
piece by piece,
they consume you.
And no one talks about that kind of breaking.
Because from the outside
it still looks like love.
So when you try to explain it,
people look at you
like the problem must be you.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:14 PM UTC
I sit in my bathtub,
knees pulled tight to my chest,
chin resting against bone.
The water that was once warm
is slowly turning cold,
creeping up my skin
like the quiet realization
that time kept moving
even when I stopped.
My hair clings to my face,
heavy and damp.
Strands stuck to tears
that dried hours ago.
The bathroom light hums above me.
Too bright.
The mirror across the room
shows someone I almost recognize,
but not quite.
Just a shape.
Just a shadow
softening around the edges.
I stare at the water
as it moves slightly with my breathing,
small ripples
in an otherwise still room.
This is the only relief,
the only place where the noise fades.
Where no one asks me to smile.
Where no one tells me
to be someone else.
Just water.
Just silence.
And the slow feeling
of fading.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:02 PM UTC
Have you ever wanted to see red?
Running down your arm,
And running down your leg.
Oh how it would feel
To not carry the weight of the world.
The expectations.
The crowded rooms.
The noise that never stops.
Oh how it would feel
To see red.
Have you ever wanted to see red?
I see it now
Not the color,
But the feeling.
My whole life rushing past me
Like a tornado,
Moments spinning, breaking, fading.
Oh how red feels...
Beautiful,
But loud.
Painful.
Desperate.
Alive in the worst and best way.
So tell me,
Have you ever wanted to see red?
Do you see it now?
Do you see it in the bathtub where I bleed my heart out?
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 2:55 PM UTC
The American Dream.
A myth.
A legend.
A question.
A promise
that if you work hard enough,
you can have everything
you’ve ever wanted.
But do they tell you
about the riots
the hatred carved between races?
Do they tell you
about the screaming children,
the broken schools,
the forgotten neighborhoods?
Do they tell you
about the cries in the dark,
about women hurt,
voices stolen,
futures taken
before they even begin?
The American Dream.
The men
working day into night,
giving everything
just to survive,
just to exist
with almost nothing.
Is nothing
the American Dream?
While billionaires sit in quiet rooms,
“teaching” the poor about money,
training the young
for lives of service,
for systems that were never built
for them to win.
Oh, the American Dream,
a dream.
That’s all it is.
Something some say
you will never reach.
But maybe
just maybe
it is real.
Maybe not for me.
Maybe not for you.
But for someone,
somewhere,
it will be.
The American Dream.
A dream we’re all still trying to chase.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 3:40 PM UTC
Love...what a beautiful thing,
a heartless thing.
No one prepares you
for the love people give,
or what they tell you is love.
They say they love you,
adore you,
would do anything for you,
even destroy you.
And slowly, quietly,
they are killing you.
Not with hands,
but with words shaped like perfection,
with rules dressed as care,
with cages built from “what’s best for you.”
They drown you
in the silence of control,
in the absence of freedom,
until all you want
is air.
Love,
how it changes
house to house,
person to person,
heart to heart.
Are we all breaking from love?
Smiling through it,
carrying guilt
for hating something
that was supposed to protect us?
Is it me?
Should I love harder,
quieter,
better?
Or am I just finally speaking
against something
no one wants to question...
because love,
sometimes,
kills.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 2:58 PM UTC
Depression is a monster.
Not the kind you imagine as a kid.
Not the one in the closet or under the bed
those monsters had shadows, had shapes, and had names.
Depression is a silent killer.
It drags out under with a scream that never leaves your throat.
It steals your breath first, then your dreams,
until even wanting feels like too much work.
It comes in different forms.
Sometimes it leaks through the cracks of your smile.
Sometimes you learn to seal those cracks shut,
because the monster tears hardest when it knows you're weak.
So you hide. You perform. You survive another day.
As a kid, you wish depression were something hiding in your room
something Daddy could scare away with a light or a promise.
But Daddy doesn't know this monster.
No one does.
Depression whispers lies that sound like your own voice.
It shows your dreams, then convinces you that you don't deserve them.
It makes you feel unnamed, something rotten,
then punishes you for feeling it at all.
And still, it tells you to smile.
This is a monster you fight alone.
Quietly. Daily.
And not everyone will survive the fight.
Those who do are never the same.
They live listening for its footsteps,
afraid of the silence,
afraid it will crawl back into their mind
And finish what it started.
So listen closely kids.
Not all monsters make noise.
Not all monsters can be seen.
Some are just silent killers.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 10:46 AM UTC
A name I didn't know
until a girl reached out her hand
and shook mine.
Sixth grade.
First period social studies.
She sat to my right
until our laughter
was too loud
and we were pulled apart.
I thought that was separation.
I didn't know
what it actually meant yet.
She was perfect
or maybe I was just young enough
to believe in perfect.
That belief didn't survive.
Lyric Woods.
A girl my age.
Bathroom talks.
Uncontrollable laughter.
Whispers between classes.
Gone.
Just like that.
One second a person.
The next
a memory.
A fragment.
A name people say carefully.
Isn't it strange
how your whole life
can collapse
in seconds
and still keep going?
Lyric Woods.
A face burned into my mind.
Dead at fourteen.
Fourteen.
I dream about her.
About who we were suppose to be.
I didn't lose her
the way other people lost her.
I didn't lose a best friend.
I didn't lose a sister.
I lost something quieter.
I lost the part of me
that believed we were safe.
That believed childhood was protected.
I lost my innocence.
My impulse.
My freedom.
She didn't take my future with her.
She took the version of me
that thought nothing bad
could happen
to kids like us.
We think childhood fades out slowly.
It doesn't.
It snaps.
One second you're laughing in the bathroom.
The next, your learning
that innocence is fragile
and nobody tells you
when it's about to die.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 10:40 PM UTC