I am undefined.
     My edges are blurred.
                 I am too soft to cut.
                          I am too rough to hold.
                                    I am invisible to some.
                                            I am too visible to some.
                                                       My heart is scraped.
                                                               I have scraped others.
                                                                    What am I? What do I do?
I am undefined.
     My edges are blurred.
                 I am too soft to cut.
                          I am too rough to hold.
                                    I am invisible to some.
                                            I am too visible to some.
                                                       My heart is scraped.
                                                               I have scraped others.
I am undefined.
     My edges are blurred.
                 I am too soft to cut.
                          I am too rough to hold.
                                    I am invisible to some.
                                            I am too visible to some.
                                                       My heart is scraped.
                                                               I have scraped others.
                    
                            

                                 I am undefined. I am misshapen.

She had layne,
He was pained.
She gave glares,
Him in snares.
Her love gone,
His was chains.
One moved on,
Another stayed.

Though she left,
He’d wait on her.
One day she’d return.

you never chose your birthday
no-one ever does

except maybe we do.

breaking through the wall
diving down the waterfall.

Do you see her?
A quiet smile, steady and calm,
like sunlight on glass.
warm—
but with shadows beneath.

Do you see her?
How she takes a deep breath,
pulls her coat tight,
Steps out into the cold,
where the world awaits.

Do you really see her?
The gentle glow she carries,
even when darkness lingers,
how she offers light,
without asking for it back.

Do you séé her?
The parts she keeps hidden .
Not broken, just quiet,
waiting for the right moment—
to speak.

So, do you see her?
All of her?

Let’s not sugarcoat it.
You didn’t protect me.
You didn’t question it.
You didn’t even blink
when she took my life
and signed it over to stone walls and locked doors.

I’ve been made permanent, Dad.
Not “just until things settle.”
Not “a term, maybe two.”
Permanent.
She made the decision.
She made the call.
And you?
You just stood there like a ******* statue,
held together with whatever spine she let you borrow.

And guess what?
You still don’t know.
Because she has been feeding you her version of reality
while threatening me into silence.

“You’ll make things worse.”
“He doesn’t need the stress.”
“You’re lucky we even—“

Shut the **** up.

I’m done being lucky to exist.
Done being silent so your wife can sleep better knowing that I’m far away,
tucked neatly into a place she doesn’t have to see.

She calls it “what’s best.”
I call it what it is:
exile
with a pretty brochure.

She erased me, Dad.
And you handed her the whiteout.  

You think you’re keeping the peace?
There’s no peace here.
There’s just you
living a lie so loud it drowns out
the sound of your daughter breaking.  

Do you know what it feels like
to be warned not to tell the truth
because you might not believe me?

Do you know how disgusting that is?
That I don’t even trust my own father
to choose me
over the woman who’s been gutting me
with fake smiles and cold silences since
I was eleven?

Let’s not pretend anymore:
You let her win.
You let her rewrite what “family” means
until I didn’t fit in the ******* sentence.

So here’s your truth:
I’m not okay.
I’m not “thriving.”
I’m surviving on scraps,
packing trauma into a dorm drawer,
waiting for someone to notice I never come home.

And since no one will say it
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Hope the cake tastes sweet
while your real kid sits miles away
eating silence.

Hope the presents are stacked high
while I unwrap another year of being invisible.
Hope her kids call you Daddy
loud enough to drown out
what you gave up.

But when the party’s over,
and the house is clean,
and she’s sipping wine on the couch
like none of this ever happened
I hope it hits you.
I hope my absence rots in your stomach.

Because I’m still here.
Still screaming between the lines.
Still writing you into every ******* word
because I don’t know how to make you
look at me.

So yeah.
Happy Birthday.

You got your quiet life.
And I got forgotten.