"you’re my second favorite,"
they said,
and i smiled,
like it didn’t carve
a jagged truth
into my chest.

i am the runner-up,
the consolation prize,
the one you call
when no one else picks up.

there is no space
in this world
for someone like me—
almost enough,
but never.
quite.

they say it doesn’t matter,
but why does it feel
like i’m disappearing?

ocd is
the loop
you can’t break,
a thought that whispers
over and over—
check again,
just to be sure.

you do what it says,
but the relief is temporary,
like a mirage
disappearing
as soon as you reach it.

you try to fight,
but the chains are invisible,
and they drag you
in circles.

you walked through the fire
& lived to tell the tale—
but now,
the smoke
still clings to your lungs,
& every breath feels
like a battle
you never asked to fight.

they say,
you can’t have this body
and this sickness.

but they don’t hear
the screaming silence,
don’t see
the empty plates,
don’t feel
the shame that
swallows you whole.

to them,
you are just
too much.
to you,
you are never
enough.

i am both the flame
and the fuel.

some days,
i watch myself burn—
wild and untamed,
destroying everything i swore
i would protect.

i feel the cracks forming
before they break,
hear the words
before they cut,
see the wreckage
before it falls.

i want to stop.
god,
i want to stop.

but it’s like trying
to hold back a storm
with trembling hands.
the chaos is mine,
but it owns me.

when the fire dies,
i am left with the ash—
and the aching hope
that somehow,
i can rebuild
before i burn again.

the hunger whispers
like an old friend.
you answer.

later,
kneeling,
throat raw,
you wonder—
is this all
i am?

relief
i don’t want to die,
i just want
the ache
to go away,
the heaviness
to lift,
the silence
to be kind.

i don’t want
to end it,
i just want
to feel
like i’m
breathing again.