It wasn’t fireworks,
or some big spark.
It was the way you spoke,
calm and low,
and suddenly,
I couldn’t imagine
quiet
without you in it.

I told the ceiling my secrets.
It blinked once,
then cracked a little.

Didn’t speak,
but it listened
better than most people do.

Now every time I lie down,
it stares back like
it’s holding
everything
I’m too tired to say again.

I stand beside them, close enough to hear,
But somehow, my voice disappears.
They talk, they laugh, they make their plans,
And I’m just there, empty hands.

It’s not that they hate me, I know that’s not true (at least I think so),
But somehow, I’m never thought of too.
Not the first call, not the second glance,
Just a shadow in the background’s dance..

They don’t push me out, but they don’t pull me in,
Like I exist, but just barely fit in.
I wave, I smile, I try to be seen,
But I’m fading out in the space between.

Would they notice if I walked away?
Would they ask me why I didn’t stay?
Or would my name slip from their minds,
Lost in the shuffle of passing time?

It’s not their fault, they never see,
How it feels to be almost, but never fully me.
And maybe one day, I won’t have to try,
To feel like I belong, instead of just getting by.

she tiptoed on teaspoons,
drank sunsets from a straw,
taught a goldfish to waltz
in a teacup of awe.

her shadow wore slippers
made of old lullabies,
and her laughter?
a jellybean storm in disguise.

she planted her dreams
in a shoebox of stardust,
whispered,
"grow wild, not wise."

when asked her name,
she smiled sideways,
and became
a question mark in the sky.

They said she swallowed galaxies,
one constellation at a time.
No fork, no plate, just trembling hands
and a hunger that made silence cry.

She walked barefoot across the sky,
stealing light from planets
no one dared to name.
They called her cursed.
She called it dinner.

Her eyes?
Two black holes.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.

And if you ask her why,
she’ll only smile
with moonlight in her teeth.

I miss the girl
with the quiet heart,
the one who smiled
before the world taught her
how to flinch.

I whisper,
What have I done?
like it’ll undo the storm,
like guilt can rewind time
if I feel it hard enough.

Hands shaky,
eyes red,
I look for the path
back to who I was,
small, soft,
still believing
that good things stay.

But the mirror only shows
a stranger with my face,
cracked wide with shame
and too many
I’m sorrys
stuck in her throat.

I want to go back.
To the version of me
who didn’t flinch at her own reflection.
To the version of me
who hadn’t yet broken
what couldn’t be unbroken.

But maybe…
maybe the road back
isn’t about time travel.
Maybe it’s choosing,
every day,
to hold that little girl’s hand,
not abandon her
in the dark I created.

Maybe I can still be her.
Not the same,
but braver.
Because I’ve seen
what pain does
and I still want
to be kind.

They say he’s out there.
My prince.
Maybe in a hoodie,
maybe in a crown.
Maybe late.
Definitely confusing.

He’s not on a horse.
He’s probably on his phone.
Scrolling,
not knowing I’m waiting
like a plot twist.

I don’t want saving,
just someone who sees me
like I’m not background noise.

So I wait.
With sarcasm,
lip gloss,
and slightly too much hope.

my mind is full of bubbles,
not the kind that pop with a pop,
but the kind that float,
fragile, iridescent,
carrying pieces of unfinished dreams
and words i never said out loud.

sometimes i catch one,
hold it close,
and wonder if it’s mine
or just a reflection
of someone else’s sky.

I speak in soft truths,
hold out my hands,
show the cracks in my skin
to say,
“See? I’m real.”

But your eyes look through me
like a glass too clean,
like trust
is a place
you’ve long forgotten how to reach.

I do not wear daggers in my smile.
I do not carry storms in my sleeves.
Still, you flinch
like I might.

How many gentle words
must I whisper
before you stop running
from shadows I never cast?

I’m not asking for all.
Just for enough,
enough for you to believe
that not everyone
is here to hurt you.

But maybe that’s too much.
Maybe
being safe
is scarier than being alone.