She walks in like her name already knows the room.
Not loud, not desperate,
but steady
like she’s got oceans in her chest and learned how to swim in all of them.

See, she’s mastered the art of letting them be.
Your storm? Yours to weather.
Your silence? Yours to hold.
She’ll still greet the sun, still sweep her space clean,
still cook joy into her own plate.

She’s not in the business of dimming her light
just because someone forgot how to shine.
Not in the business of folding herself small
to fit into someone’s unmade plans.

Her kindness is a choice
and don’t get it twisted,
it’s not because she’s weak,
it’s because she knows her peace
is the most expensive thing she owns.

So she wears it.
Every day.
Like armor you can’t see,
like poetry you can’t break.

I will not shrink to match the shadows of another’s mood.
I will not hand over the keys to my joy.

Let them be silent,
let them be distant,
let them be lost in storms I cannot calm.

I will still open my hands to the sun,
still tend to the space I call home,
still do the things that make my spirit rise.

Because the only heart I can command
is the one beating in my own chest
and I choose for it to beat in peace.

summer is hereeee
and i’m 19,
in a world that expects me to have it all figured out before 21
career lined up,
relationship stable,
collecting degrees and dreams like trophies.

the wind blows my hair behind me
and in my head, voices whisper:
“rest. dream. restart.”
i want to be different.
to do it differently.
to try again.

and sometimes,
i love it here
the sun, the wind,
the green turning slowly brown,
sunsets that make me pause,
ice cream dates and unexpected hugs,
the way a random touch can soften the day,
crushes that come with 1 a.m. questions,
being young.

but then
there’s the chase for perfection:
perfect grades, perfect skin,
perfect body, perfect boyfriend, perfect friend.
and suddenly i stop and wonder:
who am i doing this for?
me?
or people who don’t even care
who judge me for five minutes
then move on to the next?

i love people.
but people stress the hell out of me.

so here i am,
trying to adapt,
holding on to the uncertain,
even when nothing guarantees it’ll go right.
still, i wanna try.
i wanna believe it’ll be okay.
that one day, i’ll make it
and look back like
“yeah, that mess? it made sense.”

but until then
let’s laugh when we can,
hug people a little longer,
tell them we care.
let’s enjoy the last month of summer.
exercise. dress up.
pray. read.
live.

'cause life won’t ever be fully figured out.
and maybe that’s the point.

They liked the way you made them feel.
The comfort you gave.
The attention they didn’t have to ask for.
The validation you poured out like water
Even when you were running dry.

They never liked you.
You were a placeholder.
A stand-in for someone they thought was coming.
You gave everything
light, softness, safety
without demanding anything in return.

You held their heart like it was your own wound,
even if you weren’t the one who broke it.
You became their peace
when they never once asked how your storm was doing.

They touched you without giving you a name.
Held you without asking about your past.
They didn’t bother to learn you
because you were too easy to read,
and they were too distracted to notice the highlights.

You were the name echoing in their mind
when everything else started crashing.
The voice they didn’t know they craved
until it went silent.

But they lost you.
Not because you were hard to keep,
but because they never tried.

And truth is,
you were never really theirs
because they never held you long enough
to even realize you were worth missing.

It’s wild,
how fear doesn’t just live in pain
sometimes it shows up
right when everything feels okay.

A soft hand reaches out,
a kind word finds you mid-breakdown,
someone sees the parts of you
that others called too much
and says, “you’re still worthy.”

And you freeze.

Because peace feels unfamiliar
when survival was the default.

You start plotting escapes from love
that feels safe,
pulling away from people
who meet your chaos with calm,
second-guessing growth
just because it feels different.

You want to apply,
present,
pray,
connect,
but you’re scared
not of failure,
but of what if it works out?

What if they say yes?
What if you're actually seen,
chosen,
celebrated?

What if healing changes you
in ways you can't control?

You hold back from community
that doesn’t mirror your culture
because you know
they might stretch you,
challenge you,
push you to become someone
you’re still learning to believe in.

But still…
you want it.

So maybe today,
you don’t run.
You don’t ruin it.
You don’t shrink.

Maybe today,
you breathe,
you stay,
you try.

Because maybe the fear
is just proof
you’re stepping into
something true.

Dear Mister Man,

Today was a good day.
The kind that slips in quiet,
like a breeze through half-open windows,
like laughter I didn’t expect but needed.
Nothing too loud
just life, humming gently beneath my skin.

I walked with the sun on my face
and your voice in the back of my mind
not saying much,
just… being there.
You do that.
You are that.
A calm corner in a noisy world.

And while the sky didn’t do anything special,
and the world kept spinning the same,
somehow
I felt like I could breathe deeper.
I thought you should know.

Today was a good day.
And a part of that was you.

Yours softly,
~s

i told myself
i don’t miss him.
i rehearsed it in the mirror
like a line in a play
that didn’t quite sound right.

i swore i stopped caring
about where he goes,
who he calls,
what he forgets.

but then he leaves
and somehow
my heart checks the time
as if it still runs on his schedule.

he made me feel things
i thought only lived in movies,
you know
when someone just gets you
without needing to say a word.
just hands,
just presence,
just him,
and my favorite song
three times in a row,
like he was trying to memorize me
in lyrics.

but what if it wasn’t that deep for him?
what if i made it all up
in my hope-shaped head?
what if he just said
everything i wanted to hear
because i was listening,
because i was soft,
because i made love easy?

he held me
like i was the last spark of warmth
in his cold, distracted world.
he looked at me
like maybe
just maybe
i was the thing he never knew he needed.

different.
chill.
warm.
safe.

but now he’s gone.
not all the way
just enough to hurt.

and i’m left
picking petals off memories,
asking
was it real?
was i?