I sleep with the curtains drawn,
not to block the sun,
but to remind myself it’s gone.

The walls whisper names I forget
until I’m quiet,
then they scream them instead.

I leave the door open
in case hope walks in,
but all I get is silence.
Heavy. Familiar. Cold.

Some say darkness is just
the absence of light.
I think it’s where the truth hides
when it’s too ashamed to speak.

I’ve always wondered—
if I spoke more,
smiled more,
would I still seem scary?

Would my words
come out soft,
or sharp like they imagine?

Even I don’t know
why I wear this face.
Maybe I’ve forgotten
how to take it off.

Or maybe,
I’m just afraid
you won’t like
what’s underneath.

It isn't a crime,
this ache of being left behind,
but it feels like one,
like I'm guilty of wanting more.

Three voices weave a tapestry
bright and endless,
and I smile as if
my thread is still stitched in.

But the laughter still echoes without me,
and I sit quietly,
a ghost in the group photo,
a shadow at their table.

I mute their chatter,
not because I hate them,
but because I can't keep watching
a world where I am fading.

They did't do me wrong.
Heck,
They didn't even notice.
And maybe that's the sharpest cut,
to be nothing worth wounding.

it comes more often now,
the shaking,
the crying,
the desperate search for air.

something small,
something others may laugh off,
cracks me wide open,
it hurts,
God, it hurts,
to drown in my own chest.

and still,
I can't cry in front of anyone.
too scared they'll see me break,
so I break
alone.

There is a star I trace each night,
its glow not meant for me,
yet I keep it in my sky,
as if my watching makes it brighter.

I walk a garden not my own,
hands aching to touch the roses,
but I leave them untouched,
thorns reminding me
they bloom for another.

Some loves are like glass,
you see straight through,
you dare not hold,
for fear it was never yours to begin with.

So I become the silence,
the keeper of a story unfinished,
guarding what was never mine,
with a tenderness
that no one will ever see.

My heart is heavy,
a stone I carry in my chest.
I swallow the screams,
the questions, the why,
because no one needs to see
how much it hurts.

So I cry alone,
tears spilling quietly
like rain that no one notices,
letting the weight fall,
just enough
to breath again.

late assignments,
fake smiles,
quiet cries in bathroom tiles.

coffee cold,
tears hot,
people ask,
but then they don’t.

laugh too loud,
then fall apart,
holding duct tape to my heart.

“you okay?”
—“just tired.”
(again.)

They said I talk like I swallowed the sky,
like stars slip from my mouth
when I'm not looking.

But I never noticed.

I was too busy counting cracks
on sidewalks,
too busy hiding the sparkle
I thought didn't belong.

Turns out,
I was made of glittering things.
Not loud, not showy,
just soft-spark stardust
in messy hair
and tired eyes.

And maybe,
that's magic too.

I look at the stars and think of you,
How your smile feels like midnight skies.
You’re a wish I never knew
I made beneath those quiet lights.

The day hums softly,
like a tune only joy can play.
Petals twirl in the breeze,
and even the clouds wear smiles.
My heart feels lighter than air,
spinning, skipping,
catching the sunlight
in its hand,
holding it close,
like laughter that refuses
to fade.

I stand
on the edge of the balcony,
not falling,
not safe.

Below,
the city exhales
in flickering lights and wet pavement.

Above,
the moon bends down,
whispering
choose.

I almost speak,
but my voice catches the wind,
falls
before I can hear
what it was going to say.

and so
I just stay here.
Between.

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 stared at the clock—
and it blinked.
Just once.
As if it knew I knew.

Time slipped sideways,
my breath turned slow,
and shadows whispered
where light should go.

Maybe I’m dreaming.
Maybe I’m not.
But the moment paused—
and the silence forgot.

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.

I walked a path I’ve never known,
Through whispering trees and cobblestone.
A house appeared—then slipped from sight,
Its windows blinking out the night.

The door creaked open, no one near,
Yet every room was filled with fear.
A mirror smiled without my face—
Then vanished, leaving not a trace.

Im glad they buy this version of me,
the polished one,
the smiling one,
the one who fits neatly
into the outline of “fine.”

They believe it so easily.
Why wouldn’t they?
It’s brighter,
lighter,
easier to hold
than the truth.

The truth is,
the real me was shelved
along time ago,
left to collect dust in the dark.

Now I wake each morning,
slip on this costume
like it’s second skin,
play the part until curtain call,
and no one notices
that behind the mask
my face is still wet
from last night’s crying.

I waved at my reflection,
it didn’t wave back.

Just blinked once,
then smirked.

I stepped closer.
It didn’t move.
I asked it,
“Which one of us is real?”

It cracked.
And whispered,
“Not you.”

The moon left me a note last night,
Tucked in a cloud, soft and white.
It whispered, “Why rush through the sky?
Even stars take their time to shine.”

kind of cry
is when your tears fall
without you blinking.

No trembling lip.
No heave of breath.
Just silent surrender
from eyes that forgot
how to fight it.

That,
that is the sign
we've been through
enough.

And still,
we stay standing.
Barely.
But still.

We were four,
a balanced kind of chaos,
laughing in even numbers.

But now,
it feels like three voices
always reach the other first.
Three steps ahead,
three inside jokes,
three plans whispered
just loud enough.

They say, "It's just for now,"
that I'm still one of them.
But even when books are closed,
their world keeps spinning,
and I'm left
outside of gravity.

Sometimes I wonder,
is it them who've changed?
Or have I?

I love being their friend.
I love them.
But I hate being the silence
in a room
full of noise
that once included me.

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.

I wish I could open up wide,
But most won’t see what’s kept inside.
So I stay quiet, smile instead,
While screaming words inside my head.

Ugh, Why Didn’t I Say Something?

Okay, so like… there was a time,
When you liked me, and I liked you—what a crime.
But I didn’t know, I was so clueless,
And now I’m here, feeling kinda useless.

You’re cute, you’re tall, it’s actually unfair,
And I catch myself trying not to stare.
Do you still feel the same, or is it too late?
Am I stuck overthinking while you’ve moved on straight?

I wish I had said it, just got it all out,
Instead of sitting here filled with doubt.
But maybe—just maybe—you still feel it too,
And you’re wondering the same thing about me and you.

I am holding it together
There is no weight too heavy
I’m used to the silence
Being alone doesn’t hurt
They don’t mean to forget me
I know I matter
I’m not breaking
I’m okay.

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.

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.