they come to you, arms outstretched,  
            voices cracked open like old leather.  
                    you gather their sorrows,  
                           tuck them neatly between your ribs.  

    you are the light in their storm,  
            the hands pulling them from the water,  
                    the voice that hums, "it will be okay."  

    but when the tide rises for you?  
            when your own chest caves like a hollow house?  

    silence.  
            not cruel, not malicious—  
                    just absence.  

    the weight is yours alone to carry.  
            you, the listener.  
                    you, the healer.  
                            you, the foundation that must never crack.  

    (but sometimes, even stone crumbles.)  

    when will someone pull you from the flood?  
            when will someone sit beside you and say,  
                    not in passing, not out of duty—  
                            but because they mean it—  

                                   "it will be okay."

(quiet, isn't it?)  

       the air holds its breath.  
               the walls do not move.  
                       the body is still—  
                                  at last, at last, at last.  

but time does not stop.  
        the clock hiccups,  
                        then keeps ticking.  
        the door stays locked,  
                        but the knocking doesn’t stop.  
        the phone keeps ringing,  
                        but no one picks up.  

       (were you expecting silence?)  

somewhere, the sun keeps rising.  
        somewhere, the city hums on.  
                but here—  
                           here, the world tilts,  
                                         the sky folds,  
                                                   the ground sinks beneath them.  

       a mother grips the doorknob,  
                      hand trembling like a faulty lightbulb.  
       a friend stares at the unread message,  
                      timestamped yesterday, 3:14 AM.  
       a lover traces the indent in the mattress,  
                      as if it were a wound that might still close.  

                     they always meant to check in.  
                     they always meant to call.  
                     they always meant to say—  

but meaning is a ghost,  
         and ghosts do not answer.  

       (are you listening?)  

   your name becomes an echo.  
                 a prayer, a question, a plea.  
   your room becomes an altar.  
                 untouched shirts, dust settling like snowfall.  
   your absence becomes a stain.  
                 not red. not blood. something paler, endless, unseen.  

       (is this what you wanted?)  

       the weight is gone,  
               but only for you.  
                     it latches onto their shoulders instead,  
                            vines curling, thick and unrelenting.  

   a sister walks slower.  
   a father speaks softer.  
   a friend laughs less.  

       (you left, but you did not leave alone.)  

       the world keeps turning,  
       the sun keeps rising,  
       the birds keep singing,  

       but for them, the light feels wrong,  
       the sky feels heavier,  
       and the music plays out of tune.  

       (quiet, isn't it?)  

              (but listen—someone is still crying.)

this is how you rise.
           shed the old, reshape the rest.  
                 stand straighter, speak softer —  
                      beauty is just another word for belonging.  

step into the light.  
           let the fabric drape just right.  
                      let the colors speak for you.  

      (if it glitters,  
                 does it matter  
                       if it suffocates?)  

  cut the hair.  
          swallow the accent.  
   paint the lips  
                the color of currency—  
                      polished,  
                              bloodless.  

       now you are seen.
   now you are wanted.
now you exist.

smile wider.
let the teeth gleam.
walk taller.
let the rhythm match.
speak carefully.
let the voice lose its edges.

(soften.
soften.
disappear.)

lovely, isn’t it?
      to be chosen?
           to be one of us?

isn’t it?

it stings
but thats the price i pay
for doing bad things

again

will it ever stop?

will i ever stop?

itll stop when the world stops spinning
they say it gets better
to wait it out
itll stop when i stop breathing

When I fear my heart
has become too small
for the love
it carries
failing
to
express
the muchness
of
it
all