you wre my favorite sound-
all heart,
no rhythm.
a mess of lyrics
i tried too hard to make make sense.

i gave you verses,
melodies stitched from my spine.
sang you through storms,
waited for you
to meet me at the chorus.

but you
kept fading out,
leaving me
with static
and silence.

and now-
you're humming again,
soft,
like maybe you remember the words.
like maybe you finally hear
the song i never stopped playing.

but i don't know
if this is a remix
or a repeat.

because needing you
always felt like singing
into a mic
that wasn't plugged in.

and god,
i don't know if i can
record this pain
again.

some days i wake up
and immediately want to go back to bed.
not because i'm tired-
because existing feels like a group project
and no one told me the due date.

i laugh at dumb memes
while my brain whispers
"you're falling behind."
but behind what?
behind who?
nobody knows,
wer're all just pretending we do.

i say "i'm fine"
with the confidence of a bad liar
and the world keeps spinning
like it didn't just hear me crack a little.

i romanticize sunsets
beacuse they remind me
that even endings can be soft.
but some nights feel like
sleeping in a hoodie that doesn't smell like anyone anymore.

i want to be loved
without needing to explain
the weird parts.
the quiet panic.
the jokes i make to cover the silence.
the fact that sometimes
i don't respond
because i have nothing left to say
that doesn't sound like an apology.

but hey-
i'm still here.
i held on.
i laughed today.
i ate a cookie and didn't cry after.
so yeah,
i swear i'm trying.
and maybe that's enough for today.

I was born with upside-down dreams
and mismatched shoelaces.
they told me to tie them tight,
but i liked the way they tailed.
said it made me trip-
i liked the fall.
it showed me the ground was softer than people.

i used to fold myself small,
like a paper crane in someone else's hands.
until one day,
i flew crooked.
and it felt
right.

they said "be normal."
but normal never sang in my key.
normal never laughed mid sentence,
or wore clouds on its sleeves.

you?
you might speak in colors,
walk in zigzags,
or cry when the sun sets too fast.
good.
that means you're alive.

we're not broken.
we're just not mass-produced.
so yeah, maybe this didn't make sense
at first.
but maybe it was never supposed to-
because you were never supposed to fit.
you were born to stand.

I never fit in the drawer
with the rest of the silverware.
Too sharp for a spoon.
Too soft for a knife.
Too weird to be called "normal."

So they tried to file me down.
Told me to be shiny.
Polished.
Predictable.
Palatable.

But I've tasted the metal
of biting my tongue too long.
And I'm done being digestible.

Because maybe I wasn't made
to match the rest of the set.
Maybe I was born
to stand out on the table
and make people ask,
"what's that for?"

I used to hate the answer.
Now I wear it like a crown.

Call me strange.
Call me too much.
Call me anything-
but never ask me
to be less

You make me feel
like I'm everything-
until I start to believe it.

Then you vanish,
and I'm back to wondering
if I ever mattered at all.

I don't need perfect.
I don't need pretty.
I just need real.
And I thought maybe
you'd give me that.

You don't have to love me loud.
But ****-
could you at least stop
dropping hints
and calling them honesty?

Because I show up for you.
Every time.
Even when you don't ask.
Even when it hurts.
And all I want is for you
to want me like that.
No-need me.
Not out of loneliness,
but out of knowing
I'm the one who stays.

I'm not asking you to fix what's broken.
I just wish you'd stop
breaking me
trying to figure out
if you're ready.

If you want me-
say so.
And if you don't...
let me go
before I forget how to stop
holding on.

They say I've changed.
Like that's not the whole **** point.

Like I'm not clawing my way out of
a version of myself
that only knew how to survive
but never how to live.

I've been quiet,
but not because I have nothing to say-
I've just been too busy
trying to unlearn everything I was taught
about being 'enough.'

I used to wear my silence like armor,
but now I'm learning
that sometimes strength
is screaming your name
into rooms that forgot it.

I don't know who I am yet,
but I know who I'm not.
Not my past.
Not theriexpectations.
Not the version of me
that shrinks to fit in.

Some days, I still fall back
into old habits like they miss me.
But even then-
I get back up like I owe it to the kid
who didn't think they'd make it this far.

I've got dreams with bruises.
Goals that scare me.
Scars I still trace when I need proof
that I've healed something.

And no-
I'm not "fine."
I'm unfinished.
But I'm here.
And that has to count
for something.

I smiled like it was stitched there,
like maybe if i faked light,
the dark would forget me.

They called me strong,
but only after watching me break
and not bleed loud enough.

I loved like a house on fire-
burning warmth,
but choking in smoke.

Sometimes, I whisper to mirrors:
"Who saved you when you saved them?"
The silence echoes me.

I carry old versions of myself
like ghosts in my pcoket-
some still cry when the room gets quiet.

And maybe that's the twist:
the softest people
learn to vanish first.