the alarm rings, and she’s already spent
dragging her feet through the weight of the day
a mountain of tasks, a future of discontent
but they wonder—what price does she pay?

her body aches, no, it pleads for rest
her mind’s a storm, one too loud to hear
she always tries her hardest, she always gives her best
but she’s drowning in a sea of fear

the nights are worse, with no space to breathe
thoughts that are like chains, pulling her down low
she stares at the ceiling, she’s silent beneath
waiting for a peace she’ll never know

each day repeats, each a merciless loop
but still, she rises (she’s afraid to stop)
she carries this burden, this endless troop
praying one day, maybe it’ll finally drop

she counts the hours but they stretch like years
the weight of “what ifs” a constant ache
each smile’s a mask, concealing tears
a fragile facade she’s scared to break

what’s the point, this cycle of pain?
each step forward feels more like a crawl
she screams inside, but it’s all in vain—
no one can hear when she’***** the wall

even her dreams bring little relief
haunted by what she’s left undone
she carries this quiet, invisible grief
watching the days blur into one

maybe she’ll rest when there’s nothing to do
when expectations no longer chase
but for now, she keeps moving through
with this hollow shell, in this endless race

i feel things too deeply
it’s just kind of the way i am
each laugh or each sigh
is a weight upon my heart
it’s like i can sense unspoken pain
within every crowded room
god i wish it didn’t have to be like this
i still remember what you said
why do you think
i stopped bringing lunch?
someone please make it end
it’s too much for me
my heart is too wide

“are you okay?” they always ask,
and i nod, my answer rehearsed.
“i’m alright,” i say, though inside i ache,
the weight of it growing worse.

i wish they’d pause, just for a beat,
to catch the truth behind my eyes,
but they take my words and move along,
unaware of my quiet lies.

i want to say, “no, i’m not fine,”
to let my walls finally break,
but my voice betrays me every time,
and “alright” is all i can fake.

how did it become so hard to speak,
to let someone see my pain?
i’m tired of pretending, but i don’t know how,
so i say “alright” again.

you say
“what are you scared of?”
and i say “silence,”
but you’re confused

what i mean is
silence is haunting
it’s not only the absence of sound
it’s the absence of everything

you don’t realize, when it is silent
thoughts slip into my brain
bad thoughts
ones that you don’t have

they creep in like shadows
filling the void with echoes
of every mistake, every fear,
reminders of battles lost within

in that quiet,
the heart races,
drowning in whispers
that claw at my sanity

i long for the noise,
the chatter, the laughter,
anything to drown
out the darkness lurking

you see, it’s not just the silence—
it’s what it reveals,
the demons I face alone
in the stillness of my mind

i measure my days in the moments i break
not in the sun or the steps that i take
morning starts quiet, but it cracks by noon
by evening, i’m drowning under the moon

one tear means the day was “okay,”
two means the weight wouldn’t fade away
three, i’m silent, too afraid to be seen
four, and i’m lost in the spaces between

i wasn’t always this fragile, or this small
didn’t always crumble at every call
but now my reflection feels strange, almost blurred
a ghost of the girl i once preferred

this isn’t normal, no, this isn’t me
but i’m trapped in this cycle, i can’t break free
one tear at a time, i fall apart
praying tomorrow will restart my broken heart

your laugh still echoes, clear as day,
a melody i’d know miles away.
yet now, it’s distant, faint, untied,
like a shadow of the time we tried.

“don’t be a stranger,” you softly said,
but the weight of it filled me with dread.
isn’t it strange how that plea is spun
when the stranger’s thread has already begun?

a last act of desperation, so bare,
a whisper thrown into empty air.
we both knew what it really meant,
a way to hold on when the ties were spent.

now you’re someone i barely know,
a flicker of light from long ago.
i wonder, would you recognize me?
or has time blurred what used to be?

“don’t be a stranger,” the words still ache,
a promise we couldn’t help but break.
yet your laugh remains, sharp and true,
a stranger’s gift i still hold onto.

do you know the weight of silence when no one’s looking?
what is the measure of a smile you didn’t mean to give?
how much of yourself have you left behind, scattered in others’ lives?
do you ever wonder if they notice the holes where you used to be?

ff love feels like drowning, is it love at all?
can you hate your reflection and still call it yours?
when the sun rises, does it ever tire of burning?
and when you cry, do the tears feel like betrayal or release?

what do you hold onto when the world demands too much?
is it possible to love without losing something of yourself?
can a heart break in slow motion, or does it only shatter all at once?
and if the pieces fit together again, are they still the same?

who decides what it means to be enough?
do they ever ask if you’re tired of trying?
when you give and give, how do you tell where you end?
and when the stars die, do they know they were beautiful?

the morning sun fools you into hope
but then the afternoon drags you down
and nighttime leaves you feeling alone
mornings should be a fresh start
but it’s the same endless loop

i almost asked for help today
but my throat caught the words
before they could leave
it’s easier to smile than explain

i almost didn’t do my homework
but the guilt got too loud
so i scribbled half-answers at midnight
hoping no one would notice i’m slipping

i almost told my friend i miss them
but what if they don’t feel the same?
so i double-tapped their post instead
like that’s supposed to mean something

i almost felt okay for a second
laughing too hard at a stupid post
but the quiet came back after
heavier than before

everything’s fine, i guess
that’s what i say when they ask
but inside, it feels like
everything’s almost fine

i used to feel happy most of the time,
with sadness just passing through,
but now it feels like sadness stays,
happiness, a rare guest.

in daylight, i can manage,
i push through, i wear a smile,
but when night comes, it gets harder,
and i feel alone with this weight.

i don’t know how to tell them,
this shift, this sadness i carry,
i wish i didn’t feel this way,
but i do, and i don’t know how to share it.

when we were younger,
we made promises.
“BFFs” we’d say,
a vow inked in laughter,
and whispered secrets,
a place of unbreakable bonds
in world still discovering its limits.  

the word “forever” rolled off our tongues
like an incantation
a spell against time,
an assurance that never would our paths diverge.
we clung to it
with a sort of youthful certainty.

in its shimmering glow,
everything felt possible,
every challenge conquerable,
every storm a passing shadow.
but as the years went by,
and we navigate the labyrinth of growing up,
the syllables shift,
settle into a new rhythm,
“Best friend.”

we type “bsf” into our phones.
something not as final,
not as bold,
but softer,
more nuanced.
we understand now
that forever is a fragile promise,
a truth that shifts
with the winds of change.

our laughter still echoes,
but the landscape has transformed,
now a map of our lives,
marked by detours and revelations.
and so, “bsf”
becomes a testament to the present,
to our current moment,
to the growing spaces
where we meet,
where we still hold each other in our hearts.
not forever, but for now.

even as we drop the “forever”,
its warmth still lingers.
the name may have softened,
but the bond is undiminished,
a testimony to time,
where “forever” and “now”
blend into a single, unbroken thread.

i used to love this,
the way it made my heart hum,
the way it pulled the light from shadows
and turned the world gold.

but now, it feels like a weight,
not because it changed,
but because they did.
their words are needles,
their glances, razors.
i’m unraveling, thread by thread.

i cry in corners no one sees,
choking on the bitterness of it all.
they took something pure,
something mine,
and turned it into a battlefield
i’m too tired to fight in.

i want to walk away,
but my feet are rooted in the soil of before,
when it still felt like home,
when it was still love.
am i strong enough to let go?
or will i let them steal it all?

i am a mosaic of everyone i’ve loved,
each broken piece a color, a hue,
a story of joy, a tale of pain,
and every loss leaves something new.

happiness isn’t just joy alone;
it’s the quiet absence of sorrow’s reign,
where love and heartache learn to rest,
a harmony born from loss and gain.

each face, each voice, a part of me,
etched in the lines that shape my grin.
they linger still, like whispered songs,
even as other lives begin.

to love is to carry a thousand hearts,
to hold the light that others leave,
and even when they’re out of sight,
they stay, like shadows that softly weave.

even in endings, warmth remains,
like embers that glow long after fire.
a mosaic formed of love and ache,
of fleeting joy and desire.

for happiness is not untouched,
but woven from threads of loss and grace,
a way to gather the pieces whole,
and find the light in every space.

the summer air was thick with goodbyes,
and you left before fall could call us back.
i watched you go, a piece of me in your hands,
like sand slipping through my grasp.

they say time heals, but it just aches,
the empty halls, the spaces you filled,
a silence where laughter used to be;
a shadow of all we built.

i count the days, but you feel far,
like a star faded from the sky.
i’m here, stuck between missing you
and trying to learn how to say goodbye.

have you ever been so nervous
you felt your ribs were closing in,
your lungs trapped in their embrace,
each breath a desperate thief, stealing air?

have you ever been so nervous
your hands forgot their purpose,
shaking like leaves in a storm,
fingers betraying your will?

your stomach twists—
a knot that tightens with no end.
your heart, relentless,
beats faster than it should,
as if it’s running from itself.

you tell yourself to calm down.
you tell yourself it’s nothing.
but nothing feels this heavy,
nothing feels this alive,
this threatening to consume.

have you ever been so nervous
you thought, just for a moment,
that it might swallow you whole—
and you wouldn’t even fight it?

when he leans in
i can feel the weight of his want
his lips brush mine
and all i can think of is escape

it’s not his fault
not the way he cradles my face
nor the way his hands
search for a piece of me
i wish wasn’t there

i love him, i think
but love feels heavy when
it meets the mirror
i’ve spent years avoiding
his eyes are soft
but i don’t want them to see

i pull away
make excuses out of thin air
like smoke that lingers
and betrays the flame
he asks if something is wrong
and i wish i could answer

when i kiss him
i try to love him
but the hardest battle
is loving the body
he thinks belongs to me

Today I went for a bike ride.
We’re in a heat wave
So I rode under the cover of dusk,
Listening to the sweet melodies of the crickets.
I didn’t think there’d be another heat wave,
We’re on number four already.
But I guess this is how it is now.
It didn’t used to be like this.
The sky is pink and orange,
The July air smells faintly of smoke
And reminds me of summers long ago.
The kind of summer that I long for,
The one I spend my winter days anticipating,
The kind that I haven’t had in a while.
It’s still sweet,
But not sweet enough.
It didn’t used to be like this.
Remember how we used to bike?
Everyday?
And now I only do it
When I can find the time.
No.
Truthfully,
It’s when I can find the motivation to get off the couch,
And search for the feeling that I once had.
Yet I still can’t find the motivation
To answer all my texts.
Sarah, it didn’t used to be like this.
As the sun sets around me,
I think about how we would race the lingering light,
Praying we’d get you home
Before the light died,
And I wonder
Would that still be the rule
If you had stayed here with me?

i know now you’re the only one
i know now i’m the lonely one
i reached for you, but you’re out of reach
this lesson life is cruel to teach

i sang your name like a fragile song
believed in us, but i was wrong
you’ve moved ahead, yet i’m standing still
chasing shadows against my will

i know now love is a fleeting thing
a tether snapped, a severed string
i know now that the past is done
you’re not mine, and i’m no one’s one

at least sadness feels honest
when you know why it’s there—
a sharp ache, a clear wound,
a reason to repair.

but these indifferent tears,
falling without a name,
are heavier somehow,
and harder to explain.

i climb the hill,
one foot in front of the other,
the summit in sight,
but no joy waits for me there.
just the echo of a sigh:
it’s over now.

the cheers sound distant,
like they’re meant for someone else.
i smile on command,
a mask as thin as paper.
inside, i collapse, whispering:
it’s over now.

big or small, the finish line comes,
but never the pride.
i carry the weight of relief,
not triumph.
the quiet mantra follows me:
it’s over now.

when did the journey lose its meaning?
when did the end become the only goal?
the cycle turns, and still,
i can’t stop chasing the next hill,
just to whisper, once again:
it’s over now.

i wish i didn’t make it so hard to be loved,
didn’t push you all away when the sadness comes,
again and again, like a tide i can’t control.
sometimes i wish you could stay forever,
that the world could stop turning,
and nothing would change.

you’d argue, wouldn’t you?
say, “we love you, of course we do.”
but you don’t know me—
not really, not the pieces i keep hidden.
i don’t even know myself.

i wish i could just be.
be happy, be flawed,
be sad without apology,
angry without shame.
but it’s all harder now,
and i’m clinging to hope
as tightly as i can.

Today I tried on a bathing suit, just to see what it would look like. I want to cry. I don’t understand why I look like this, and why I can’t be pretty like everyone else. I’m not sure what else I can do, I’m practically starving myself with only one meal a day. I guess I’ve been eating snacks, maybe I should cut them out. I’m working out 30 minutes a day. Maybe I should work out for longer? It’s just, I don’t know if I have the energy to do that. I’m at a loss for what to do. At this point, I feel like the only kind of bathing suit I can wear is a bikini, but I look so **** ugly in it. I’ve never felt uglier than I do right now. I wish I could go to target and pick out a bikini top and just try it on without another thought. I know the way I look is all my fault, but I’ve been actively trying to fix it and it just hasn’t been working. How is any guy supposed to find me attractive? How is he still going to like me after seeing me like this? I really wish I could talk to him about this, but I don’t want to ruin his trip. Or he’d try to convince me that I’m actually beautiful and I don’t have the energy to fight against it. Or he’ll really see how I look and he’ll run away. I wouldn’t blame him.

i wake up,
and the weight is already waiting,
an invisible ache that sinks
into the spaces where joy once was.

everything feels muted,
like the world has dimmed its lights,
leaving me to stumble
through shadows that never shift.

i carry it all—
the quiet expectations,
the loud regrets,
the fear of not being enough.

and yet, i keep walking,
not because i want to,
but because stopping
feels like giving up on something
i haven’t even found yet.

is this what life is meant to be?
a series of steps through exhaustion,
a battle against the voices
that say, “you’ll never escape”?

i am so tired.
of pretending, of pushing, of hoping.
but still, somewhere in me,
a small voice whispers:
“keep going.”

how can he say he loves me,
when he doesn’t know the weight i carry,
the reasons i move like a shadow,
folding myself small to fit the shape of his world?

he doesn’t know the lines that spill out of me
when the night turns its back,
the words that stitch my breaking heart
into something passable, something whole.
he hates poetry.
he doesn’t know it’s the only thing keeping me here.

he says i seem happier today,
but that’s only the mask holding steady,
only the cracks i’ve learned to patch
with practiced hands and a trembling smile.
does he notice the moments i falter,
when the mask threatens to slip?
or does love mean looking away?

he doesn’t know me.
he doesn’t understand that every laugh is a compromise,
every kiss, a sacrifice.
he doesn’t see the pieces i’ve buried
so no one else has to look at them.
how can he love what he can’t see?

and yet, he stays.
why does he stay?
does he think i’m a puzzle to solve,
a mystery waiting to unfold?
or is he just as lost as i am,
clinging to something that feels like love,
even when it’s not?

and if i asked him to read me,
to trace the lines i write in the dark,
would he hate me too?
would he still say he loves me
if he finally knew?

the water greets me, a mirror and a veil,
cold and unyielding, yet somehow forgiving.
with every stroke, my body protests,
screaming in soreness, pleading for stillness.

the lane is endless,
marked by the rhythm of my breath,
a metronome of effort and will.
each lap erases the outside world,
until it’s just me and the silence beneath.

this isn’t about speed, or glory,
it’s a battle of mind and muscle,
against the doubt that rises like waves.
in the water, i am both lost and found.

the melodies came alive, and so did i
each note a whisper, a soaring cry
my music poured, unbroken and free
thunderous applause—a symphony for me

i hold my tongue, i bite my words
afraid they’ll echo, loud and absurd
opening up feels selfish, unkind
like stealing space in someone’s mind

yet you wait there, patient and still
no judgment cast, no force of will
you make it easy to let it pour
to speak the truths i lock in war

i don’t deserve the ease you bring
to air my pain, my guilt, my sting
but here i am, unguarded and free
a fragile soul you choose to see

through my writing, i spill my soul,
each line a bridge, a way to hold
the pieces of me i need to share,
a call to find someone, somewhere.

with every verse, i bare my heart,
a fragile art, a healing start.
in hopes that words can build a space
where souls connect, a shared embrace.

in the quiet moments
when the weight settles
there’s a familiar ache,
a shadow that lingers.

words that echo
with unraveled hopes,
a constant measuring
against an unseen standard.

every effort feels heavy
each smile a mask on my face
whispers of not quite enough,
never enough.

in a crowded room,
even laughter feels distant,
a reminder of the places
i can’t quite reach.

still, i search for a glimmer,
but the weight remains,
shaping who i am
the truth of the matter

i will never be good enough

it must be nice to be a tree,
roots grounded, branches free.
no storms to fear, no choice to sway,
standing tall, come what may.

or maybe like the river’s flow,
carving paths where it will go,
unchallenged in its steady course,
untouched by unfamiliar force.

to walk through life with quiet ease,
a steady wind, an endless breeze.
it must be nice, i sometimes think,
to hold the earth and never sink.

the blade whispers promises
it cannot keep,
and i press,
but it never cuts deep enough
to quiet the storm.

each line carved on my skin
feels like an apology,
to myself,
to the world i’m hiding from,
to the guilt that follows
like a shadow i can’t escape.

i tell myself this is the last time.
that i’ll find another way,
but the ache is relentless,
and the silence inside me grows louder,
begging for release.

i want to stop.
i want to believe
there’s more to me than this,
but for now, i sit with the shame,
and the fragile hope
that one day,
i’ll learn how to heal.

August is the Sunday of summer
A slow, heavy sigh
That drifts over the sun-bleached days,
The bright, lazy hours.
The heat hangs like a memory,
Lazy and heavy,
As if summer itself is reluctant
To slip back into the pages of a calendar, Where days blur into the promise of something else.
The mornings are a bit less forgiving,
The air tinged with the shadow of a classroom,
The soft whisper of new pencils and paper, The hint of structure returning.
August brings a shift,
An undertone of anticipation
That stirs beneath the calm surface,
Like the distant hum of an old alarm clock, Waiting to signal the end of rest,
The beginning of something expected, yet feared.
The long, sun-drenched afternoons
Feel like a final, quiet farewell,
Each day a little more golden,
a little more fragile,
The bright edges of summer
Softening into the muted tones of
The school year to come.
August is the Sunday of summer,
A quiet, nostalgic refrain,
Where every fleeting day
Echoes with the promise of change.
As the sun descends a bit earlier,
And the nights grow cooler still,
August lingers like a gentle reminder
That summer's end is near,
Soft and unspoken  
That the season is changing,
And with it, the slow, heavy sigh
Of summer’s final, golden hours.
August is the Sunday of summer,
A sad, lingering pause
Before the structured rhythm
Of the days that follow,
A silent, reflective bridge
Between the freedom of sunlit days
And the routine soon to reclaim us.

is it worth the weight i bear,
this climb i’m told will lead to more?
for debts and desks, for restless years,
a future i’m not reaching for?

the days grow long, the nights too loud,
the pressure builds, it pulls, it binds.
a whispered thought begins to form,
what’s left for me, what will i find?

but then, a breeze, a song, a smile,
a fleeting joy, a gentle flame.
it cuts the dark, it lifts the weight,
reminds me life is not a game.

perhaps the climb will bring me peace,
or paths unknown that lead to gold.
for in the cracks of heavy stone,
there’s light and love still yet to hold.

the clock hands circle, slow yet unkind,
stealing the moments i’ll never rewind.
each second a whisper, a truth left unsaid,
a future that waits while the past is widespread.

“this isn’t like you,” they say—
but they don’t know what i’m like

they only see the open hands
the ready smile
the way i crumble into comfort
when their worlds shake too hard

i give, and i give, and i give
until my bones feel hollow
i bend, and i break,
but never in ways they can see
“this isn’t like you,” they say—
but they don’t know what i’m like

they don’t see the nights i lie awake
wishing i could scream “enough!”
but swallowing the words instead
they don’t hear the way my heart shouts
when I finally say no—
and they call it selfishness

“this isn’t like you,” they say—
but they don’t know what i’m like
what i’m like is exhausted
what i’m like is disappearing
what i’m like is someone who wonders
if they’ve ever been seen at all
what am i like?

if they knew, they might ask
“why didn’t you tell us?”
but i’ve tried.
i’ve always tried.
and they only listen
when i’m the version of me
that they need me to be

“this isn’t like you,” they say—
but maybe it’s the only thing that ever was

there are three things that i know
though i wish i didn’t
and i’m sure that knowing them
won’t make it easier

1. i shouldn’t feel this way about you
but here i am
holding onto something i know will hurt me
something i was never meant to hold

2. i always end up feeling more than i should
you know how it is
how one look, one word
turns into a hundred feelings i can’t contain
it’s never just a glance with you
it’s always more
always deeper than it’s supposed to be
and every time it happens
i know i’m crossing a line
but i don’t know how to stop

3. even when i know better
i still want what i’m not supposed to have
i can feel it in the way i move when you’re near
how every part of me leans toward you
even though i’m standing still
i try to step back
but every inch feels like it’s pulling me closer
until i’m tangled in something
i know i can’t untangle

i wish this was easier
a simple choice between right and wrong
but every time i try to turn away
i find myself pulled back in
it’s like i can’t breathe without this ache
this guilt, this hunger
but i can’t seem to let it go either

three things i know
though i wish i didn’t
1. i shouldn’t feel this way about you
2. i always end up feeling more than i should
3. even when i know better
i still want what i’m not supposed to have
and here i am
caught between wanting and knowing
wishing to forget and never forgetting
stuck in the space where i can’t seem to breathe
but i can’t stop wanting you, either

my biggest fear is you seeing me
the way i see myself—
the cracks beneath the surface,
the doubts i file away

i hide my flaws in shadows deep,
but what if you should find
the fractured mirror that i see
when i look inside my mind?

tomorrow, i’ll sit across from someone
whose job is to listen.
i’ll try to speak,
to untangle the mess i carry,
but the words might not come out right.

i’m scared.
scared they’ll dismiss me,
scared they’ll nod politely
but not truly hear.
scared they’ll look at me
like i’m just another 16 year old
with problems that don’t matter.

but what if they do listen?
what if i let them in,
just enough to ease this weight?
what if saying the words
i’ve been too afraid to speak
is the start of something better?

i’m not sure i’ll go.
i’m not sure i’ll stay.
but maybe sitting in that chair
is the first step
toward finding something
i didn’t know i needed.

i don’t know what we are anymore—
a rhythm, offbeat, yet familiar
do you enjoy these conversations,
or am i the one keeping them alive?

sometimes, you laugh like the world is soft
like i’ve found the thread of who you are
other times, i feel the weight of silence
and i wonder if i’ve overstayed my welcome

i was put here to know you (i think)
to listen when others won’t
to care even when you shut me out
you’re more than a friend—
you’re a purpose i can’t explain

but (tell me) is it selfish to stay
if you don’t want me there?
is it selfish to leave,
if i think you might?

if i’m wrong—if you hate me—
just tell me, please (please)
but if there’s even a sliver of truth
that i belong in your life,
don’t let me go

what the **** am i doing here,
chasing shadows, chasing fear.
steps uncertain, paths unknown,
trying to find my way alone.

when i said “i’m fine”
what i meant was “i’m tired”
not of you, but of trying to be
the version of me you could love

when i said “take care”
what i meant was “please stay”
but goodbye is easier when
it doesn’t sound like begging

when you said “i’m sorry”
what you meant was “it’s over”
i caught the silence between your words
the way it wrapped around my throat

and now, when i say nothing
what i mean is everything
i never knew how to tell you
while you were still listening

the loud girl in class
the quiet one online
the secret mental struggles
the aching to feel fine

the too proud athlete
the one who skips PE
the weight of expectations
the fear of never being free

the girl who never studies
the one who always tries
the cracks beneath the surface
the truth behind their eyes

the third of four sisters
the one in their glow
the pressure to be noticed
the reality they’ll never know