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.

the loneliess has teeth
and it bears down on my heart
next my brain
the hum of the refrigerator is heavy
breaking any silence there was before

i don't turn on the lights anymore
i can pretend you're here when it's like this
dark.
alone.

envy is a strange thing
i scrolled through
the life of a boy
i had never known,
watched the love
pour over him
like flowers on a grave,
watched the silence
turn to screams
of “i miss you”
& “why did you leave?”

& i thought,
what would they say
about me?
would their silence
finally break?
would their love
finally bloom?

but then i realized—
he is not here
to feel it,
to hear it,
to carry it.
& i—
i am still here.
& if i am still here,
there is still time
to teach them
how to love me
while i am alive.

—stay, even if the love feels quiet.

i know this darkness.
it wraps around me
like an old sweater—
worn, frayed,
but familiar.

happiness knocks at my door
like a stranger with bright eyes,
offering sunlight,
offering warmth.

but sunlight burns.
and warmth fades.
and what if i can’t keep it?
what if it leaves
like everything else?

so i stay here,
in the shadows i’ve named home,
where sadness hums
a lullaby i’ve memorized.

because even pain
feels safer
than hope
that might shatter.

i am a pouring pitcher,
filling every cracked cup,
yet my own glass
stays empty.

i wonder if someone
will see me
evaporate—
but they don’t.

still, i pour,
hoping the universe
will fill me back—
it never does.

the hunger whispers
like an old friend.
you answer.

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

he spreads me open and carves me from the inside out with his fingers while telling me im pretty
i tell myself he cant see that im crying
its dark in his van anyways
time moved on
but i didnt
yet another boy tells me im pretty with the lights on and tears streaming
i think im just meant to be sad
why else would this compliment feel so hand crafted
like they picked my lowest times to tell me how beautiful my pain looks
why else would i be so pretty when i cry

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.

i love you like the sun loves the moon—
too far apart
to share the same sky.

you wanted stillness,
a life with roots.
i wanted movement,
a life with wings.

we tried to meet
in the middle,
but love
couldn’t bridge
the distance.

so i let you go,
not because i stopped loving you,
but because staying
meant losing
ourselves.

some love shines forever,
but ours was the kind
that had to end
to set us free.

if i carved my pain
into my skin,
if i starved myself
into nothing,
if i made a graveyard
of my body,
would you believe me then?

tell me,
how much of me
must i destroy
before you see
i'm already gone?

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.

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.

i do not believe
in gods or devils,
but guilt whispers
their names to me
anyway.

a hymn of
you should have been better
plays in my chest,
and i hum along,
even though
i do not know the words.

how do you measure love
when your heart is a wildfire
& theirs is a candle?

i want a love
that burns my skin
just to prove it’s real,
but they tell me
that warmth
is enough.

maybe i want too much—
a love that spills over,
a love that consumes,
but isn’t that what love is
supposed to feel like?

because if it’s not desperate,
if it’s not all-encompassing,
then how do i know
it’s real?

they call it "too intense,"
but all i hear
is "not enough."

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.

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.