Don’t tell me what’s holy when your visions of heaven sounds like chains.
You say i’m free but only if I kneel.
Only if I speak your truth instead of mine.

You hand me a rulebook written in fear,
Marked with sins for simply being human.
Cover your hair,
Lower your voice,
Don’t feel that,
Don’t love them,
Don’t question,
Don’t doubt.

You say ‘god’ watches,
But it feels more like you are.

Policing bodies,
Minds,
And voiced that dare to excuse outside your lines.
Faith should never feel like a muzzle.
Worship should not be forced into trembling hands.

Believe if you believe.
But don’t make me carry the weight of a ‘god’ I didn’t choose.
Don’t call it salvation if it begins with fear.
Let me think.
Let me feel.
Let me choose what is sacred to me.

Because truth,
If it matters at all,
Shouldn’t need
To be forced.

Everyone else sleeps.
The world goes still.
And for once, I can breath.
No noice.
No questions.
No expectations.
Just me, and the soft hum of the world that finally stopped shouting.

I don’t want to sleep.  
And I can’t, anyway.

My thoughts are too loud,
My body too wired,
Like I was made for the hours everyone else forgets.

Daylight feels wrong, too bright, too demanding.
But night wraps around me like a blanket I actually want to wear.
This is when I come alive.
When silence isn’t empty but safe.

I scroll through nothing, lie in bed with my eyes wide open, and tell myself I’ll sleep soon.
But I never do.

I’ve finically stopped fighting it, this strange rhythm, this life between midnight and 5 a.m.
I think I was made for it.
For the stillness,
For the quiet company of my own thoughts,
For being alone but not lonely.

Let them have the day.
I’ll keep the night.

If I disappeared,
Not loud,
Not dramatic,
Not quietly,
Like the last page of a book ripped out and never missed.
Would anyone notice?
Would silence shift?
Would my name feel heavy in a sentence or just,
Trail off?

You see me,
But do you really?
Or just the version
That doesn’t cry too loud,
Doesn’t make things heavy,
Performs what’s easier to like?

I’ve been heavy for a long time,
Just never when youre looking.

I say
“I’m fine”
Like it’s the only language I know.
I burn without making smoke.
And maybe that the tragedy, not the leaving,
But how easy it is to be gone while still standing there.

If I just disappeared,
Would the world adjust,
Or would it ache?

Look around and ask yourself,
Who around me might already be half-gone?

Its the answer I’ve rehearsed,
The shield I raise without thinking.
Three words stacked like bricks between me and the world.
Because if I say more,
If I let the cracks show.
They might fall through.
And then I’d have to explain
why my heart feels heavy,
Why my mind wont stop spinning,
Why the silence inside me is louder than any noice outside.

So I say,
“I’m fine”
Like a broken record,
Like a lie I tell myself first.

It’s easier this way,
to tuck the storm away,
To hide the pain behind a smile,
To keep the floodgates closed.

But sometimes, in the quiet, when no one’s watching those words echo back at me.
A hollow, Empty promise that doesn’t mean a thing.
Because inside,
Im not fine.
Not really.

But the world doesn’t need to know that.
So I say it again,
Softly,
As prayer,
As a lie,

“I’m fine.”

Ive mastered the art of shrinking.
Of softening my ‘no’ int o a maybe just to keep the peace.
I mold myself into what they need,
A smile here,
A favour there,
A thousand yeses when my bones are begging for rest.

They call me kind.
Helpful.
Easy to be around.
But no one sees the cracks beneath the polished version of me I perform on autopilot.

I say sorry for simply existing too loudly.
I apologise when someone else hurt me.
I carry guilt like it’s mine to own, even when it was never meant for me.

And the truth is,
I don’t know what I want anymore.
I’ve been so busy being what everyone else needed that I lost shape of who I was before the pleasing became survival.
Because if they’re happy,
Then maybe I’m safe.
Then maybe I’ll be enough.
Then maybe they’ll stay.

I wonder,
Who would still like me
If I stopped trying so hard?

We take and take and still,
We want more.
Forests fall to feed our hunger for things we don’t need.
Oceans choke on the waste we pretend disappears.
The sky dims from smoke we lit just to feel bigger.

We built high and call it progress.
We cover green with gray and call it growth.
But it’s decay,
Dressed in convenience.

We act like kings of a world we didn’t create,
Forgetting we are guests here,
No more scared than wolves,
The sea whales,
The trees,
The silence.

We speak of saving the earth as if it’s seperate from us,
When in reality.
We’re trying to save ourselves from what we’ve done.

We had enough.
We still do.
But enough was never the goal.
We wanted more,
And more has always meant less for everything else.

One day,
The earth will go on without us.
I hope it does.
It would be better without us.
It’s us who are not guaranteed.

We never fought.
No final words,
No goodbye wrapped in drama.
Just distance, creeping in like a fog until I couldn’t see you anymore.

Sometimes I wonder if you still think of me the times I still think of you,
Of us.
How we were when everything was the way it was before we stopped talking all of a sudden.

Just like that, in a single heartbeat, everything is gone.
Al the memories we made,
All the sacrifices,
All the plans,
The promises,
The ups and downs.
Are all gone, just like that.
Back to strangers again.

I wonder if things remind you of us the way they remind me of us.
A place,
A smell,
A song.
They pull me back without warning
To laughter that echoed too loud,
The promises made on sidewalks,
To a friendship that once felt like forever.

No matter how far we drift,
No matter how quiet it’s become,
Our friendship will forever have a special place in my heart.
Even though we don’t talk anymore.

I still think of you.
Do you still think of me?
I hope you do.
I miss you,
I miss us.

Its not always a cry for attention.
Sometimes, it’s the only way to silence a storm no one else can hear.

It’s not about death.
It’s about feeling something,
Anything in the numb.
It’s pain trying to make itself known in a world that doesn’t listen unless you bleed.

People say,
“Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
As if pain always waits for permission.
It’s easier to hurt yourself than to explain the emptiness.  
Because how does someone say,
“I don’t want to die, but sometimes I don’t wont to exist either.”
Without scaring others away?

If someone tells you they’re hurting,
Don’t flinch.
Don’t turn it into silence.
Don’t make them feel like their truth is too sharp for your comfort.
Be the reason they don’t have to prove their pain to be believed.
Be the voice that doesn’t look away.

So ask again.
Ask gently.
Ask like you mean it.
Because someone near you might be bleeding in ways you can’t see.

And what to what you next might be the reason
They stay.

I don’t even notice when I start.
Fingers find skin like they’re searching for silence.
I pick until it stings, peel away the edge of something that wasn’t whole a moment ago.

It’s not pain I’m chasing.
It’s not anything,
really.

Just something to do with the noise in my head and the quiet in my chest.

Nails tear, skin rips off.

It’s not about thinking.
It’s about remembering what the mind tries to forget.

A habit.
A comfort.
A scar I’m still making with hands that just won’t rest.

I wish I could explain
how it helps,
even when it hurts.
How it feels like doing nothing
and everything
at once.

Sometimes, I think I want to disappear.
To melt into the background do no one can ask me what wrong when I don’t know how to answer.

I think about vanishing,
Slipping between cracks where no one looks,
No one calls,
No one noticed the space I leave behind.
But the truth is,
I don’t want to be gone.
I want to be searched for.
Feel missing.

I want someone to say,
“I see you”
and mean it.

Because disappearing isn’t about fading,
It’s about wanting someone to pull you back.
To look past your
“I’m fine”
and ask again.
To see the version of you that’s curled up in silence,
Hoping someone heard the echo of everything you didn’t say.

I don’t want to be lost.
I just want to be found.
Not by everyone, just by someone who wont leave when I stop shining.
Someone who notices the dimming light and stays anyway.

So no,
I don’t want to dissapear
I just want proof
That if I did,
Someone would come looking.

Someways, i punish myself by eating too much.
Other days, I punish myself by not eating at all.
Either way, I call it control.
But it feels like drowning.

The mirror isn’t glass anymore,
It’s a weapon.
A judge.
A liar I keep believing.

It whispers,
“Too much”
“Not enough”
“Look at you”
So I look.
Too long.
Too often.
Until the reflection wraps int something monstrous I swear wasn’t there yesterday.

I swing between hunger and shame.
Between craving comfort and punishing myself for needing at all.

I eat and hate myself.
I starve and hate myself.
It’s never really about food.
It’s about guilt.
I skip meals and call it discipline.
I binge and call it failure.

If you’ve never hated your own body,
Really hated it, then you wont understand how deep it goes.
But if you do, if it feels familiar.
I see you.
And I hope one day you’ll look in the mirror and see something kinder.
Something whole.
Something worth saving.
Because you are.

There’s always something I should be doing.
Homework,
Laundry,
Cleaning my room.

But I blink at the ceiling
and whisper
“I’ll do it later”

It’s not that I don’t care.
It’s not that I don’t want to try.
I just don’t have the energy to carry my own weight today.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Maybe.

Deadlines come and go like passing trains I never catch, And I sit on the platform, Telling myself,
“The next one, I’ll get on the next one”

My phone buzzes,
Messages pile up,
Reminders go off like alarms in a burning building.
I mute them all.

I’ll do it later.

It’s not just laziness.
It’s not rebellion.
It’s just this fog, this endless, heavy fog that wraps around my limbs and Makes every task feel like a mountain.

The guilt hits at night, when everything’s still and there’s no one left to lie to but myself.

I promise ill change,
I promise I’ll try.

But in the morning,
I wake up and,
“I’ll do it later”
Is the first thought.
My first lie.

And the worst part is,
I’m tired of running from things I never even started.

You don’t know how much your words and actions broke me,
how they cut deeper than any scar could.

You never cared how I bled inside, only how it fit your story.
After every fight, you act like it never happened,
like to you didn’t rip me apart, like I’m not shaken from your storm.

But I am.
I am broken.

I hate you—
not the childish way, but the way carved from survival, from needing to protect a fragile heart you never learned to hold gently.

When you truly show me love, I don’t know what to do. It feels awkward, strange, like a trap, because your love always came with a cost.
I watch others— friends with mothers who smile without storms, who hug without fear, who speak without swords— and my heart aches, tightens with jealousy.

Why can’t I have that?
It’s not fair.

Every conversation with you
is like walking on glass— one wrong step and everything shatters.
I shrink,
scared of the woman who should have been my safe place.
The scars you left inside me are not healing
And I don’t think they ever will.

They ask me, “how are you?”
And I open my mouth but all that comes out is,
“I don’t know”

It’s not a lie.
It’s not the truth either.
It’s the fog I live in,
The static in my chest where answer used to live.

How do you explain that you feel everything and nothing a true same time?
That your heart is full and hollow in the same breath?
Sometimes I do know.
I know I’m sad.
I know I’m tired.
I know I feel like I’m slowly slipping and no one notices.

But if I say that,
They’ll worry and I can’t carry that too.
So I say “I don’t know”
Because maybe if I don’t say it out loud,
It wont be real.
Because maybe if I pretend not to feel,
I’ll stop feeling so much.

I say it with a shrug,
With a half-smile,
Like it’s nothing.
But inside, it’s everything.
Everything I can’t say,
Everything I’ve buried.

And when you nod an move on,
I almost wish
You’d ask again.

I tell my dad I can’t go back,
Moms place breaks me down.
Fights that echo,
Words that cut too deep,
A storm that never ends.

I’m tired,
Mentally, emotionally drained by the same old  battles that never find an end.

But when I ask him to stay longer, to just give me a little more time where I can breath,
But it’s too much to ask.
He shrugs, says,
“I can’t do much, I’m trying me best, but me and her. We need time too.”
And just like that I’m stuck between a home that feels like a cage and another that won’t open its doors wide enough.

Moms apartment isn’t home,
It’s walls too small,
A  room I have to share,
A silence filled with tension.
Dad’s place still holds my memories, my quiet corners, my space to be me.
But even there, I’m not free to stay as long as I need.

I hate going back to her.

But I’m not allowed to stay here.
And in this in-between,
I’m losing pieces of myself that no one notices

because it’s easier to pass me along
That to hold me close.

It doesn’t always look like crying.
Sometimes it’s just silence that stays too long.
It’s the half-smile,
The “I’m fine”
That sounds just convincing enough to stop the questions.

And when you finally slip,
They say,
“They should’ve said something”
“I didn’t know it was that bad”
“Why didn’t they just ask for help?”
But help starts to feel like guilt.
Like handing your pain to someone who’s already got their own.

So you stay quiet.
You try.
Until you can’t anymore.

People light candles for a soul they never saw burning.
And just like that,
you become
Important.
Valuable.
Tragic.
Because people only care once you’re gone.

So if you’re here,
Still breathing,
Still hurting.
Let this be proof
That your silence is speaking.
That someone is listening.
That even on the days you feel invisible,
You are not

Please stay.

Depression isn’t always tears and empty bottles.
Sometimes, it’s brushing your teeth and feeling like that was too much.
It’s staring at a wall for hours and calling it rest.
Its smiling so no one asks what’s wrong, because you don’t even know what to say.

It’s nog sadness.
It’s less.
Less feeling.
Less colour.
Less will.
Less you.

You wake up already tired.
You go to bed hoping you won’t wake up.
You function, but its mechanical.
smiling like you’re on autopilot, nodding through conversations.
You cancel plans saying this a headache.
You reply late,
Then feel guilty.
But even guilt takes too much energy.

They say,
“Just talk to someone”
But how do you explain a sadness that doesn’t  have a reason?
How do you open your mouth and describe the way it hurts to just be alive?
So you say,
“I’m fine”
Over and over, until it sounds like your name.

If you relate,
If this feels too close,
Please know it’s not your fault.
You’re not broken.
You’re not weak.
You’re carrying something no one else can.
And even if it feels endless,
Even if you can’t see light right now.

Youre still here.
And that means something.
You mean something.

Music isn’t just noice, it’s a language my soul already speaks.
The first thing that ever made sense when nothing else did.
I don’t just listen to it.
I feel it.
Let it wrap around my ribs like a lifeline when my mind starts drowning itself at 2 a.m.

It silences the thoughts that won’t shut up.
It fills the room so my fear can’t echo back at me.

When the world is too much, music makes it just enough.
Some songs hit like memories I never lived.
Others sound like truths I never said out loud.
They make me cry without warning,
Smile without reason,
Feel something when I’ve been numb for days.

It connects us.
Strangers across oceans singing the same lyrics with tears in their eyes.
People who’ve never met still get it,
Because the melody said what words never could.

Music is my safe place.
My freedom.
My heartbeat when mine is off-beat.

I need it
Without it,
I’m just static

They say,
“everything happens for a reason”
But what if the reason is just that there’s no reason at all?
What if the ‘reason’ is just a word we use to quiet the chaos,
To soothe the ache that won’t be silenced by hope?

Sometimes,
Things just happen.
Bad things.
Unfair things.

And the world doenst care to explain.
Things just happen.
They crash and burn
Without meaning,
Without purpose,
Without a plan.

The pain, it’s not a lesson.
It’s not a fate’s whisper.
It’s chaos knocking,
A cruel roll of dice that no one asked to play.

I don’t think the universe cares about justice or balance.
It doenst pause to explain
Why hearts break,
Why dreams shatter,
Why silence sometimes screams louder than any answer ever could.

Sometimes,
Life just happens.
And that is the only truth I need to hold.

I say sorry as a period at the end of my sentence.
A filler word when I forget how to exist quietly.

Sorry for talking too much.
Sorry for being weird.
Sorry for needing.
Sorry for being.

I learned early on that peace comes faster when you shrink first.
I apologise for laughing too loud,
for crying at all,
for bumping into someone who bumped into me.

“Don’t apologise so much.” They say.
And I try, but then I say sorry for saying sorry.

It’s not just a word.
Its a reflex.
A shield.
I say sorry so they don’t leave.
So they won’t get louder.
So I can pretend I’m easier to like if I’m always at fault.

But I’m tired of folding in half just to make others whole.
Of whispering “sorry” like a prayer to be forgiven for simply being here.

One day,
I hope to say “I’m not sorry”
And mean it.

But for now,
Sorry.
I’m stil unlearning.

Some of us weren’t made to float through life with thick skin or careless hearts.
We carry everything,
the lyrics no one hears that wraps around our throat,
A movie scene etched beneath our ribs,
A stranger’s tone that breaks the day,
A kindness that stitched it back whole.

We replay moments, masterpieces and Battlegrounds, sometimes both at once.

Words hang heavy,
Memories shadow us,
Small gestures crash like thunder,
And silence?
Silence screams.

Music doenst just play, it unlocks doors we though we’re sealed,
Brings us back to lost lovers,
Forgotten names,
Moments still unfolding that ache like nostalgia.

They say,
“You’re too sensitive”
“You take everything to heart”
But where else do we carry it?

Our hearts unguarded,
Our souls laid bare,
Maybe this is what the world needs,
The ones who feel too much,
So no pain or joy ever goes unseen.

Because feeling,
Is the most human thing there is.

They say these are the best years, but all I feel is tired.
Waking up too early,
dragging my body through halls and deadlines,
learning things that feel like weights instead of wings.

School drains me.
Not just my energy,
But my spirit.
My time.
My youth.
Gone to schedules and rules, to doing it ‘the right way’ which really just means their way.

Born.
School.
Work.
Die.
Is that it?
Is that really the blueprint I was handed?
Grow up too fast,
make choices too big,
all while being told what to think,
How to act,
What succes looks like.

But what if i don’t want that?
What if I want more than just surviving in someone else’s structure?
I wasn’t born to be a gear in a machine I never chose.

I want to live,
Not just exist.

There’s a weight I carry,
but you wont hear about it.
I don’t know how to say the words, they get stuck somewhere between my throat and my fear.

Every time I think of opening up,
I tell myself,
“you’re overreacting.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“No one can fix it anyway.”

Its mine.
My mess.
Why make it someone else’s?
What could they even do?

Talking about it feels like asking for pity.
Like I’m begging for attention I don’t deserve.

And if I tried,
if I really spoke,
I know I’d cry.
The kind of cry that leaves you raw and ashamed.

And what if they look at me like I’m weak?
Like I’m broken beyond repair?

Most days I tell myself my feelings don’t count.
Others have it worse.
I should just handle it.

And so I don’t speak.
i swallow it whole.
I wear a smile that lies.

But when you need someone when you are falling apart,
I’m the first to listen.
I’ll sit in the dark with you.
I’ll carry what you can’t.

Funny how I can give kindness, but can’t let myself take it.
I don’t know how.
I don’t think I’m allowed.
And deep down, I’m so scared of being a burden that i’d rather bleed in silence.

Poetry is how I bleed without the mess.
How I speak when my voice wont come out clean.  

It starts as a weight,
A feeling without a name,
A storm sitting in my chest asking for shape.
So I give it words.
Not perfect ones, but honest.
Soft where it hurts, sharp where I hide.

Each line is a thread pulled straight from the center of what I can’t explain in small talk or passing glances.
It’s not just writing,
It’s translating the language of the inside into something others might read and feel and say,
“Me too”
That’s the magic.

Poetry makes pain visible,
Makes love echo,
Makes silence speak.

It’s lot just mine anymore once it’s written,
It becomes something I share,
It becomes theirs too.

And suddenly,
We’re not so alone anymore.

We come from the same earth,
Breaths borrowed from the same sky,
We all have the same beginning and ending.
We share this world,
Laugh when others laugh,
Smile when others do.

A nod,
A smile,
A simple gesture that can tilt a day from dark to light.

In crowded streets,
Musicians play,
Pulling strangers close.

We are all connected to each other in a loop that never ends.
We are not different.
We breath the same air.
Walk the same earth
Live in the same world.
So why draw lines,
Call each other illegal in a world we all share?
Why built walls when we could built bridges?
Why fight for power,
When together we hold strength to lift,
To heal,
To rise?

Stronger together, right?
But we don’t see that
Even though
Together,
We are one.

I don’t need to hear you shout.
Your words reach me just fine.
But when your voice climbs too high.

Something inside me breaks, and the urge to cry crawls its way up my throat.
I want to crawl into a ball,
hide beneath the weight of it all,
cover my eyes,  
trap the tears that scream to spill my eyes.

It’s like my body knows the storm’s coming, even before the first raised word.

And sometimes I raise my voice back.
An accident, a sudden crack in the quiet.
Then regret hits sharp and cold, because it scares me more than any loud word  ever could.

I’m scared.
Not just of the noice, but if what it does to me, how it shatters the fragile calm I try so hard to keep.

It hits deep
in my chest,
in my stomach,
in the spaces between my ribs.
This thing they call nostalgia.

No one told me it would hurt like this.
What do you mean I can’t go back?
How can time be so cruel,
Taking pieces of me with every passing year?
I watch old videos and see myself laughing in some forgotten summer,
A place that doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s like watching a ghost.
I was there.
I was her.
But I can’t reach through the screen and pull her back.

I walk through old streets, sit in familiar rooms
But everything feels faded, like the color’s been drained out and no one told me why.

I wish I could go back.
Not forever
just for a day.
To feel sun the way it felt then.
To laugh without knowing what I’d lose.
To be held by time instead of running from it.
But I can’t.
And that truth wraps around my throat every time I remember.

I can’t be a teen forever.
I can’t freeze these years.
I can’t stop what’s coming.
And it hurts.
Because I’m not ready.
Because I don’t want to grow up.
I don’t want to watch these days turn into stories I tell instead of moments I live.

The past hums beneath my skin,
A song I can’t sing out loud.
Only feel.
Only ache for