I sit here, posting, writing,
Yearning for attention,
Hoping for hearts I might earn
From the avid reader.

I check, and check, and check again—
Yet nothing takes effect.
My heart grows tender,
Dreaming of climbing stature,
But the steep hill looms impossible to capture.

Still, I post, still I write,
Determined to yearn and fight.

I'm fine"
The response,
a sconce.

People echo this to escape the outcry.
The cry they hold on to tightly behind that damaged brick wall
they use to stall.

Only the holder knows the deceive,
while people around them believe.

I'm not fine; I’m hanging by a thread, so thin,
With the weight of the world pressing down from within.
This fragile line frays, I can feel it unwind,
While tangled webs clutter the depths of my mind.

Empty yet twisted, so fragile, so tight,
In a space that feels hollow, with barely a light.

"Will I ever break free? Will I make it alive?"
These questions keep echoing, trapped in my mind.
Instead of a rise, I'm caught in a dive,
Descending a staircase, steep and unkind.
"Am I fine?"

Endless, dense forest,
The sun sears against my back.
Will I ever make it out?
I’ve been here before,
Yet I’ve never found the route.

I am near to break,
But not close enough to escape,
To leave this cursed thicket.
Though I loathe this place,
I am safe—
At peace within its picket.

But I can't be speaking.
I saw the signs—the cracks in her facade, the vacant stares, the trembling hands. I noticed, but I said nothing.
Was it fear? Ignorance? Or the hope someone else would step in?
She fought alone, and for a moment, she won. But the weight came crashing back.
Caught in the Nick of time. Or maybe too late.
Now we ask why, though we know the answer. We didn’t ask the right questions. And I’m left wondering if I’ll ever speak when it matters most.