I can’t get over you. I can’t let you go. And I know, I know—it’s time to let you go, but I can’t, because I still think of your hand in my hand, and I still see you when I hear that band.
I still wish everything had gone as planned. I wish we could’ve been forever, that we never went our own ways. Because to be honest, I think part of me will always love you—or the person I once knew, before you stopped being you. Or maybe you became someone new.
But I will always love the sweet boy that held my hand and loved that band. I will always love that sweet boy that danced with me in the rain and made every ounce of my pain go away.
I will always love that sweet boy that knew how I felt before I even said a word—who always made me feel so heard, so loved, so safe, who always quieted my brain.
And I will never quite love anyone the same way I loved that sweet boy I once knew. I will never love anyone the way I love you.
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 8:58 PM UTC
I am like a rose bush. There are parts of me that are beautiful and divine—like how I am loving, and I am kind, and I try my best to speak my mind. But like a rose bush, I am surrounded by thorns.
Every once in a while, someone makes their way past the thorns, although they were forewarned, and I let them in. I am loving and warm. I trust them with all I am, and I tell them all that I can, even though they’re merely a man.
Because after all, I am only a girl who longs to be loved the way that she loves—to be perceived the way that she sees, to be loved just for being herself and not pretending to be someone else.
So I tell them all that I want and all I believe, that is until they leave. I long to be loved the way that I love, but it turns out I am never enough—or I am always too much.
So the thorns that protect the parts of me that I never let anyone see grow back thicker and sharper than before. So this time, I know I am protected for sure.
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 8:52 PM UTC
I thought we were forever,
I thought you were the love of my life,
And if I’m being honest—
I still think you just might.
I thought we were meant to be,
That we were written in the stars,
Which is what makes this so hard.
I was so blinded by my love for you
That I failed to see
I was nothing to you
While you were everything to me.
It hurts to see the person
That knows you best
And that you love the most
Disappear from your life
Like a ghost.
But what hurts the most
Is still being in love with you
After all this time
Of not being able to call you mine
Or change your mind.
I still want you to be mine,
For us to make up
And everything be fine.
And pathetically,
I hold on to hope
That one day you will realize
That I loved you the most
And you will come back home.
Jul 25, 2025
Jul 25, 2025 at 1:30 AM UTC
When I look into your eyes,
I cannot imagine a life in which you are not mine.
When I see your smile,
It makes living life worthwhile.
You are my everything—my whole world.
I thank the Lord for putting you in my life,
I think He knew that together we would thrive.
I thank the Lord that I am yours and you are mine.
We are soulmates—most people can’t relate.
Most people don’t look at their partner and see forever,
But I do.
I see our future when I look at you.
I see our many adventures that are bound to happen,
I see our wedding—all the laughing and crying.
I see you playing with our kids
In the backyard of our home.
I see the family of our own.
I feel bad for people who look at us and think we’re crazy,
Or that we’re too much—
Because I know they don’t know the feeling of true love.
I know they don’t feel like us.
I thank God for my whole world,
My future, my everything, my partner in crime.
I thank God that you are mine.
I thank God that this is that forever kind of love.
You will always be enough for me.
I love you forever and more, my love.
Jul 25, 2025
Jul 25, 2025 at 1:14 AM UTC
I know that one day I will be okay,
and the pain will go away,
and I will be glad that I stayed.
But today is not that day.
Today, I know that I should be happy to be alive—
because after all, I have a good life—
but I can’t be happy,
because I am damaged.
Like a bird with a broken wing,
I am unable to fly.
Scared I’m going to die,
but more scared that I survived,
and now I have to be alive.
I have to live with the voice inside my head
that wants me dead,
that never wants me to get out of bed.
I have to live with the past
I worked so hard to forget—
and yet,
I still remember.
Deep down,
all that has happened,
all I have seen—
and I drown
in the past I try so hard to push down.
I look for a way out,
but there is none.
I scream and I run,
but I can’t outrun the past.
I can’t forget the things that broke me,
or the little girl I used to be,
before my innocence
was stolen from me.
Right now,
I am damaged goods,
a bird with a broken wing.
And maybe I will always be a little broken.
But I know—
one day I will be okay,
and I won’t feel this way.
But not today.
Today, I am not okay.
So I take it
one day at a time,
one minute,
one second,
one step—
because one day,
I will be okay.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 11:29 PM UTC
I’m not ugly,
but I’m not the kind of beautiful
that I see every day
on other women’s faces.
Although I am smart,
and I am kind,
and trust me—
I am really trying to be
the things this world expects
of a teenage girl—
It doesn’t matter.
Because all people see
is beauty and fame.
How am I supposed to love myself
in a world so vain?
If we’re going off of looks,
I am not ugly,
but I am plain.
I am pretty enough
for people to come,
but not enough
for them to stay.
Ask me what I don’t like about myself,
and I’ll pick myself apart—
every little detail I can’t stand—
and I will tell you
everything that is wrong with me.
All the flaws
that only I see
drown out
all of the beautiful, unique things about me
that I just can’t seem to see.
I am more than my face
or how much I weigh.
I am a person,
and I just have to say:
I am smart.
I am kind.
I am loving,
and caring,
and I have a good heart.
True beauty
is more than your face
or how much you weigh.
Because what is beauty
if you are not loving,
and you are not kind?
This world is so vain,
yet completely blind.
If only the world could see
that true beauty
comes from the inside.
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 9:34 PM UTC
I am a shapeshifter of sorts.
I can be whoever you want me to be.
I can be lovely and kind,
or I can be honest and raw.
Trust me—
I can be anything at all.
Just tell me who you want me to be,
and I will be her.
I can be the person you need most,
or your biggest fan.
I can tell you
you don’t need a man,
or a five-year plan.
I can tell you what you need to hear
and be who you want me to be.
But the problem is—
I am no longer me.
I don’t even know who me is anymore.
She is hiding
somewhere in all of these personalities
I have created—
waiting to be shared,
waiting to be loved,
waiting to be enough
for someone,
someday—
waiting to be okay
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 12:59 PM UTC