Sugar. Honey. Iced. Tea.
They mutter it when they’re too scared to come at me. It’s cute, really.. how they smile and throw shade, and then act shocked when I don’t sit there and fade.

S is for Sugar, like their condescending tone, when they joke in class and won’t leave me alone. “You’re so weird,” they say, with that laugh on loop. So I smile back, and plot how to flip the whole group.

H is for Honey, that sickly sweet lie, “We’re just teasing!” Nah, you’re asking to cry. Keep poking, keep playing, keep running that mouth, but don’t act surprised when I knock you clean out.

I is for Iced, like my knuckles post swing, and the silence that follows when I end the whole thing. I don’t fight often, but I do fight loud. Enough to make the fake girls rethink their crowd.

T is for Tea, verbal or literal, either I sip it, or I serve it criminal. Sometimes it’s words, sharp as a blade, sometimes its fists when the message won’t fade.

Sugar Honey Iced Tea, such a posh way to swear.

Perfect for school halls, for pretending to care.
Because if I said what I really meant?
I’d be sent home, labelled violent or bent.

But don’t be fooled by the silence I keep.
Every insult’s recorded, every smirk runs deep.
I give as good as I get, and sometimes worse.
In this uniform jungle, I don’t just curse.

So yeah, bully me. Try it, see what you earn.
You’ll get banter back, or maybe a burn.
And if all else fails and words fall flat?
Well.. Sugar. Honey. Iced. That.

Step 1: Smile.
Step 2: Forget why.
Step 3: Keep your voice steady
when your soul is not.
Step 4: Pretend it’s fine.
(Everyone else is.)

Step 5: Fold your feelings
into paper birds.
Set them loose.
Watch them burn mid-air.
Clap softly.
Repeat.

There is no final step.
You just keep going
until you don’t know
what breaking feels like anymore.

The fire beckons me in.
Offering warmth,
but bringing betrayal.

I don’t move from the flame.
It stings greatly,
but I’d still rather be warm

Old woman,
you shuffle past the bus stop,
coat dragging like the years you’ve worn,
eyes clouded,
face soft like pages turned a thousand times
and almost forgotten.

You walk like you’ve been walking
your whole life,
through the noise,
through the quiet,
through the people who left
and the ones who never came.

And me?

I just sit here.
Watching.
Like a ghost who hasn’t even died yet.

Because I don’t think I’ll make it there.
To where you are.
To where your bones ache but
your breath still rises.
To where your silence means survival.

I don’t think I’ll ever grow old.
Not like you.
Not like anyone.

They say ”you’re young, you’ve got time,”
but time feels like a hallway I can’t find the end of.
Like a clock with no hands,
ticking in a room no one else hears.

My days are…
blurry.

Tight in the chest.
Heavy in the head.
Like I’m dragging a life behind me
that I never asked for.
Like I’m underwater
but smiling at everyone above the surface
so they won’t ask
if I’m drowning.

Old woman,
how did you do it?
How did you live long enough
to forget some of the pain?
To bury people,
and still get up to buy bread
and feed birds
and water plants that will outlive you?

I can’t even imagine next week.
Let alone
next decade.
Let alone
wrinkles and soft sweaters
and stories that begin with
”When I was your age..”

I’m scared that I won’t get that far.
And part of me doesn’t care.

Is that awful?

Some days I hope I disappear quietly.
Without the drama.
Without the note.
Just.. a light going out
that no one noticed was flickering.

But you,
you’re still here.
And I don’t know if that’s strength
or just what happens
when you forget how to quit.

Old woman,
you’re not my grandmother.
You’re not anyone I know.
But watching you
makes me ache
for a future I don’t believe belongs to me.

I don’t want pity.
I don’t want advice.
I want to feel something that tells me
I might still be becoming
instead of slowly unraveling.

So I sit here.
And I watch you.
And for a moment,
just a moment
I imagine
that maybe
somehow
I’ll last long enough
to forget how much this hurts.

That maybe one day,
someone will watch me,
and wonder how I made it.