It doesn’t matter how much you crave to be wanted;
if you are not desired, you vanish.
Someone will love you as you are,
They have to.
Right?
Or are you truly as unlovable as you feel?

Violent, sinister thoughts make you tremble;
You fight to hold them back,
closing your eyes to banish them.
Clenching fists to stay in control,
they terrify you.

These thoughts wound you from within,
scraping at the walls of your mind,
escaping in ugly ways—
a blade,
fingers pressing into skin,
nightmares that rob you of sleep.

You love suffering.
It gives you reason to be seen,
a bitter kind of attention,
a dark muse.

That’s why you’re never truly happy
You will always start a fire,
You would rather burn than be forgotten.

She needed to be gutted like a pumpkin-
Hollowed
Every thought and feeling scooped away
Each clinging piece of her gouged
see what remains when all the built-up **** is gone.

Would she be purified?
Bright and clean
A flame glowing inside

Or would she find only emptiness?
A hollow shell without the weight of lies
With nothing left to fill the void.

Would she still shine as bright without the dark?
The same darkness passed down generations.
It may come in different forms,
but darkness always remains.

What is she without the masks she wears?
Without the seeds of doubt
Planted deep
the tangled vines of fear that wrap around her soul?

She needs to be carved open
see what shape she can make of herself
find if there’s still light within her
Or just a flicker
Dim and fading.

Perhaps
Like a pumpkin
She can be hollowed
Shaped to shine anew
Even with her insides scraped away

She looks into the mirror
Carves out a smile
And hopes her light doesn’t go out.

I look at the photographs my mom keeps on the fridge,
a timeline of childhood, stacked in grade order-
my brother two years ahead, always slightly out of reach.
In those pictures, I search for the little girl I used to be,
she’s buried beneath the stretched smiles,
the practiced posture,
the brown eyes staring back at me with something missing.
The clear skin,
the natural hair I never learned to love.

I remember standing in front of the mirror,
staring into those brown eyes,
wishing for them to be prettier,
brighter-
some color that wasn’t so ordinary.
I wanted them to sparkle like the ones I admired,
all I saw were shadows.

I remember pulling at strands of my hair,
unsatisfied with the way they felt.
Too dark, too light,
never enough of one or the other.
I wished I could be different,
anything but what I was.

I pressed on my teeth before the braces came,
willing them to straighten,
to mold into something beautiful.
when the brackets arrived,
I ran my tongue over them,
flinching as the metal pinched,
as if it were the price of becoming someone new.
I thought that if I could fix the outside,
maybe the inside would follow.

I remember that little girl-
the one who whispered ugly into the mirror
before she could even reach over the counter,
before she knew what weight the word carried,
somehow already knew it applied to her.
She whispered it like a secret,
as if saying it enough times would make it true,
maybe then the world would match the way she felt.

You wanted to end it all,
silence the noise inside your mind,
stop handing tools to the people around you-
tools that stoked the fire beneath your skin,
you boil over, unseen, unheard.

You blinded yourself with endless giving,
pouring out so much of yourself for others,
only to feel the sting of abandonment
no one held you in return.
In your haze of suffering,
You didn’t see the hands that reached for you,
feel the love in the corners of your pain.

You wanted to disappear quietly,
a silent scream to echo in their lives forever.
Suicide is the final act of selfishness-
the last word in a conversation no one wanted to hear.

It would have been your release,
a way out of the prison you’d built inside yourself.
You planned it meticulously-
the blades, the hours, the motions.
You traced escape into your skin,
You couldn’t do it.

You reached out,
exposed the rawness of your breaking,
You were met with scolding words,
a mix of anger and relief.
They praised you for asking for help,
their words told you this is just how life is-
a river you have to swim,
no matter how many times you feel like drowning.
“Don’t hurt yourself over every little thing,” they said,
as if the weight of it all was just a passing breeze.

It was a slap,
a reminder that you were not allowed
to feel the depth of your own pain.
You’ve always been told your attitude is the problem,
they never understood the battle inside-
how long you’ve been keeping it all together with trembling hands.

You were breaking,
bound to the suffering you can never escape.
You will search for that release every day,
quiet moments when the world stops,
when you can’t bear the weight of pretending anymore.
You used to cut the pain out,
a ritual of release,
they saw it as another way of killing yourself.

Not cutting?
That is killing you, too.

Torn in two directions,
You had to choose-
betray yourself,
or betray your family.
You still betray them,
hiding it with practiced lies,
learning to live in the shadows.
it gets harder to conceal the truth,
to find new ways to explain the marks.

They always told you
it’s okay to do what you need,
as long as it doesn’t hurt others-
how do they reconcile that
when your pain spills over,
cutting becomes the only sweetness,
candy that rots you from the inside out

It’s harm that does more harm,
it’s all you know.

Trapped.
You hear them outside the door,
hushed voices beckoning you—
Coaxing a frightened animal.

You sit,
desperate to halt the spiral,
grasping for lifelines you don’t have:
no blade, no music.
Cornered.

Familiar voices call out,
None are safe.
Your mind races,
chased by the fear of being seen—
their worry,
their pity.
All you ever accomplish is being a burden.

Be better,
Have fun,
laugh in the glow of a carefree moon.
Instead crescent moons dance across your hands
Nails the paint nocturnes of your pointless pain
Your hands the canvas

Why do you ruin everything?
Why do you have to make it about yourself?
The thoughts drag you under.
To quiet them,
Hurt them,
Make them stop.

Your sleeve slides up.
Scars stare back,
silent witnesses to your retreat,
Reminders of your broken promises
Of histories rule,
It repeats.
Search for sharper objects—
Teeth.

Not enough.
The voices outside continue,
reassuring whispers
Into enemies
by chaos in your head.

A note slips beneath the door:
“Are you okay?”
You cannot answer—
Your voice belongs to them now.
You tear the paper,
a feeble attempt at communication.
They don’t understand.
You don’t understand.

You bite harder,
bruises blooming nightshade.
Punishment for the scene you’ve caused.
Please, let this be enough,
To quiet your thoughts,
To return you to normal.

Your mind slows,
as bedtime is called.
Your legs obey,
breath steadies.
The door slides open.

You slip past their outstretched hands-
“I just want to go to bed,”
Your hollow voice is a stranger’s.

Beneath foreign sheets,
Rub your arms,
guilt pools in your chest.
Apologize for the scene,
worrying him.

Knock at his cabin door,
he doesn’t answer.
leave a message:
“I’m okay.”

It’s a lie.
You know will haunt you forever.
Why do you always make a scene?

To walk unburdened,
Her feet had other plans.
Each step betrayed her, a quiet battle—
She fought for composure, found only pain.
This was supposed to be enjoyable,
Time to bask in nature's beauty.

She lagged, guilt swallowed her
Heavier than her faltering strides.
Her friends slowed, offering help she refused,
Their kindness a reminder of her inadequacy.

At last, they reached the car—a hollow victory.
She sank into the seat,solace eluded her.
"Are you okay?" they asked,
A smile, brittle as glass appeared,
One crack away from shattering.

They stopped for refreshments,
Beckoning her to join,
She stayed,
Alone with the ache of shame and embarrassment.

Tears carved paths down her cheeks,
Release for the torment she bottled
Feet, meant to carry, betrayed her,
Every step a punishment.

Fleeting wishes stirred for a drink
She silenced it, scolding herself for the thought.
Her penance for being a burden once again.

They returned, laughter light and carefree,
Clutching their refreshments.
She drowned in her self-loathing,
Their joy echoed in her sea of shame.