She was too harsh that day,
anger spilling over,
words sharper than she meant them to be.
Regret followed, heavy and unshaken.

She reached out, hoping to mend,
hoping to understand.
He told her he never loved her that way—
not in the way she had thought, had hoped.

Suddenly, she was her mother,
he was her father,
and the past repeated itself
without her even realizing.

She doesn’t blame him.
They were never meant to work—
she, a heart that longs for love,
he, a heart that can’t feel it the same way.

Still, it stung.
How easily he let go,
how little she seemed to matter.
She wanted a fight, a reason to stay,
but all she got was silence.

She told him she was in a bad place back then,
how it made everything feel heavier,
how she loved him more than she should have.
The hurt was real,
even if the reasons weren’t simple.

Now, they are something,
not quite friends, not quite strangers.
Maybe this is better—
to know, rather than wonder,
to speak, rather than hear his name in passing.
She hopes she made the right choice.

They called her names for daring to change,
mocked the glint of her piercings, the ink-black nails—
her armor, her manifesto,
a battle line drawn between truth and illusion.
Their whispers slithered through locker rooms,
hushed and sharp, as if difference were a disease.
She bore their labels like a shield,
choosing solitude over shallow smiles,
each sideways glance cutting her off,
yet somehow making her feel more herself.

But words carve deeper than stares.
Their venom lingered, a slur that curdled in her veins.
They didn’t know—couldn’t see—
the fear curled beneath her practiced grin,
how a friend’s laughter could falter,
how a gaze could harden overnight.
She already felt foreign within her own home,
navigating silences sharper than shouts,
enduring their quiet cruelty with every breath.

Now, new laws shadow her steps,
his promises forging unseen chains.
Will she always be an exile here?
Once cherished, once safe,
now cast aside—
a distorted reflection in their narrowed eyes.

Friendships fracture in an instant,
split by forces beyond her reach.
Chained not by choice, but by love,
trapped in a space too small to grow,
wondering if she will ever be free.

She held his hand because it felt right,
because it was expected,
but every touch lingered too long,
every moment is too heavy.

She told him, in quiet ways,
where the line was drawn—
not in anger, not in fear,
but in hope that he would listen.
He didn’t see the lines,
only the space between them.

Not cruel, not forceful,
just unaware, just moving forward
when she needed to stay still.
She let him in,
more than she wanted to,
more than she should have.
And when she finally pulled away,
she thought he would feel the absence.

But he didn’t.
He walked away untouched,
unburdened,
while she sat with all that had been unintentionally taken.

You shook the Magic 8 Ball,
asked for the name of your first love.
“It said lightning,” they laughed.
A silly trick on a starstruck child.

Love didn't strike like that for you.
You tried to be the perfect first lover,
measured love in time, not in touch.
That’s where you went wrong.

No matter how much you gave,
something in you felt broken.
He was caring but distant,
reaching for more of something you couldn't provide.

You scrambled to prove your devotion,
but he never asked you to.
Love, for him, was something quieter,
something you mistook for fading.

You were two missing pieces in the wrong puzzle,
a girl who feared she wasn't enough,
a boy who never needed what you thought love should be.

No matter how hard you tried,
you were never meant to fit.
Maybe, if you’d known sooner,
you wouldn’t be haunted by
the ghost of what was never meant to be.

I stood in the hallway,
the familiar scent of jasmine hanging heavy—
my mother’s perfume.

I called her name,
but it wasn’t the voice of my mother
that answered.

It was mine—
but younger.

I turned the corner,
and there she was—
sitting at the kitchen table,
but her eyes…
they weren’t hers anymore.

"I’ve waited for you,"
she whispered,
and the room went cold.

I reached for her,
but my fingers sank into her skin—
soft, pliable,
like wax—
too easy.

And I realized too late—
she wasn’t waiting for me.
She was pulling me in.

Then I felt it—
a slow, unbearable pressure in my chest.
I couldn’t breathe.

"You’ll never leave me again."