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15h · 66
for you to notice
lizie 15h
it’s weird.
it feels like everything i do
is for you to notice.

but somehow,
you notice things
no one else ever has.
things even i
never knew were there.
i feel like a silly child! but it’s true. everything i do is for you to notice. i think you do. sometimes
17h · 67
eye contact
lizie 17h
for once,
no one talked over me.
the air felt light.
we kept meeting eyes
across the noise.
not awkward,
just right.
1d · 21
blue scissors
lizie 1d
i still remember the first time.
i was fourteen.
things were starting to break.
friends turning distant,
the girls who used to carry me
now looking the other way.

i grabbed a pair of kids’ scissors.
they were blue.
my cheeks were soaked with tears.
i had never done this before,
but i had heard about it.

i put the blade to my wrist.
it hurt.
a lot.
but i did it again.
and again.

we made up the next day.
everything seemed okay again.
but i didn’t stop.
i liked the sting,
going to school with it still burning.

blue scissors turned into
pocket knives,
kitchen knives,
blades from pencil sharpeners.
i cried when nothing came out.

and later,
when my whole arm went numb,
i didn’t stop.
i think i liked that, too.
i don’t know why.

i still have the blue scissors.
1d · 15
i wish
lizie 1d
i wish sadness didn’t feel
like something i had to hide.
that it could just be
without alarms going off.
without threats of white walls
and blank stares.

i wish the boy i love could hold my hurt
without thinking it’s about him.
i wish being broken
didn’t break everyone else.

i wish i was thirteen.
when my best friend lived next door
and the girl down the street still liked me
and the world hadn’t begun
falling out from under my feet.

i wish jazz felt like freedom,
not failure.
i wish i still stood out,
instead of drowning
in the effort it takes
just to stay average.

i wish my world
didn’t end
every
single
day.
1d · 43
sinking
lizie 1d
i thought today
maybe things were feeling better.
a little lighter.

but it’s not true.
not anymore.
things are still heavy.

and im
s
  i
   n
    k
     i
      n
       g
1d · 31
a note to no one
lizie 1d
she told me to cover up the scars.
i told her
no one ever noticed.

she said that couldn’t be true.
but it was.

no one gasped.
no one asked.
they just looked through me,
like pain’s not real
unless it begs.

she says she doesn’t understand.
says i have no trauma.
i guess sadness needs a villain
to be taken seriously.

but what if i’m the villain?
what if the hurt
comes from me?
what if i broke myself
before anyone had the chance to?

what if no one saw
because
they never looked?
lizie 2d
i called you
when texting felt too heavy,
too many words stuck inside.

you picked up.

i tried to hide the tears,
soft breaths breaking through,
hoping you wouldn’t hear
the weight in my voice.

and still, you stayed.
lizie 2d
i was told to open up,
so i did,
just a little.
i peeled back the corner
of something i’d kept quiet
for years.
they smiled,
tilted their head,
asked how long
i’d been “thinking wrong.”
wrong.
as if thoughts were math problems
with a single right answer.
as if feeling too much
is something to be fixed.
they say it’s distorted.
and it’s irrational.
like maybe
if i rewired my brain
to sound more like theirs,
i’d finally be okay.
but this is the only voice
i’ve ever had.
and when it shakes,
when it breaks,
when it screams,
it’s still mine.
they don’t get to label that
a symptom.
if the way i think is wrong,
and the way i feel is worse,
i guess i’m broken, then.
3d · 77
Untitled
lizie 3d
who am i if not sad?
i’m scared to find out.
lizie 4d
we’ve left pieces of ourselves
in too many pages already
but june is blank
and maybe this time,
we write something worth keeping
we’ve had the cold ones,
january’s quiet, february’s ache
the months that carried goodbye
and the ones that stitched us back
but june is untouched
and i want to fill it with you
4d · 25
you, in purple
lizie 4d
purple was always mine.
marker stains on busy hands,
birthday balloons, beaded bracelets,
the crayon worn down first.

i said it was my favorite
without knowing why,
just that it made my heart full,
even when nothing else did.

then one day,
it showed up in your eyes.

not the color,
but the feeling.

the way you speak softly
when i’m unraveling.
the way you remember
what i forget to say out loud.

maybe that’s why i loved purple first.
so i’d know what to do with you.

so i wouldn’t be scared
of something that beautiful.
5d · 47
the green light
lizie 5d
i told you i felt like gatsby,
haunted by what was,
dreaming in green light.
but you just smiled,
said i was daisy.
and god, i hated how right you were.

because i do run when things get too real.
i do love in half-formed sentences.
and sometimes i dress the hurt in pretty colors
and call it grace.

but you,
you never asked me to stay frozen in time.
you said we don’t need to rewrite the past
to build something better.
you saw the wreckage,
and still,
you chose me.

maybe i don’t have to be daisy.
maybe you don’t have to be gatsby.
maybe we don’t need tragedy
to make this feel like love.
5d · 60
his mind
lizie 5d
his thoughts twist like rivers,
carving paths no one else would walk.
at first, i only followed out of wonder,
curious how someone could think in stars
instead of steps.

now, i read him like a second language.
not native, but fluent.
and every word still catches the light,
like something holy.

he tells me he doesn’t belong,
but maybe he was never meant
to fit the world.
maybe he was built
to fit me.
5d · 85
my sisters
lizie 5d
julie is soft strength,
a quiet kind of knowing,
she says “i love you” like breathing,
and means it every time.

manda is a wildfire,
messy and loud and full of heart,
she will fight the world for you,
and never ask for thanks.

livie is my reflection,
stormy one second, laughing the next,
she understands me in a way
that doesn’t need explanation.

they hold pieces of me
i forgot i gave away,
tiny, stubborn fragments
i’d never find alone.

they are not the same.
they are not always gentle.
but they are mine.

and they are everything.
6d · 28
know
lizie 6d
know,
everything i write is for you.
it’s always been for you.
even when i made you pinky promise
not to look at my profile,
because i was scared you’d know
just how much
i’ve been in love with you.

you entered my life january 7th, 2024,
but i had known you before.
eighth grade me, seventh grade you,
playing in the jazz band.
you were so ******* quiet,
but somehow i knew
i wanted to know you.

we met again my sophomore year,
your freshman year.
things were different.
at marching band,
i prayed they’d pair us as partners.
i didn’t know why.
i didn’t know you.
but i knew i wanted to.

so when you added me on snap
january 7th,
i added you back.
you sent a picture of a piano.
i asked,
“do you play?”

i didn’t know
those words would change my life.

from then on,
i was yours,
whether you knew it or not.

we’ve had bumps in the road.
i’ve broken your heart.
but with every message,
every word,
you change my life.
you make it better.
you guide me through the darkness.

thank you.
6d · 87
Untitled
lizie 6d
my chest caves in,
pressing bone into breath,
squeezing my lungs like fists.
my heart is bleeding,
but i’d rather feel it in my leg,
where pain makes sense,
where i can see it.
seventeen days,
and still, i’m here.
but god,
how much longer can i be?
lizie 6d
i think about the version of us
that never broke.
the one where i stayed,
where i didn’t flinch at forever.

where you kissed me in april,
and we laughed about music,
and nothing hurt
unless it was from smiling too hard.

i love you,
i’m sorry.
7d · 67
sean
lizie 7d
your name is more than a name to me.
it’s a pulse,
a reflex,
a sound that lives in my chest
more than my mouth.
i hear it and feel,
not just you,
but everything we ever were:
the late night texts,
the saxophones,
the way you once said my name like it was music.
your name is the word i think of
when people ask what love feels like.
it’s the ache behind songs,
the catch in my breath
when someone else says sean.
sean.
s e a n.
they don’t know what it means to me.
7d · 58
fractions
lizie 7d
i’m in math,
but i’m writing about you again.
i don’t care about the numbers,
only if you slept,
only if you’re okay,
only if you’re hurting.
i feel like a fraction
when you’re not whole.
7d · 64
eliza
lizie 7d
my name was just letters
until you said it,
soft, certain,
like it belonged to someone worth holding.
you gave it weight,
a kind of beauty
i never saw alone,
until you spoke it,
and it became yours.
lizie 7d
i hurt people who love me,
i lie to stay afloat.
i say i’m fine
when i’m folding in on myself.
i miss him,
even when i shouldn’t.
i want too much.
i disappear.
i think i’m a bad person.
maybe i am.
maybe i’m not.
either way,
i can’t seem to stop.
May 28 · 31
good luck
lizie May 28
i can’t hold your hand,
but i’m holding the thought of you,
hoping it’s enough
to steady you
through the ache.
lizie May 28
by answering messages
i shouldn’t
and hoping for things
i can’t have.
May 28 · 320
another kind of tired
lizie May 28
i told them i was tired.
they said “get some sleep.”
but i didn’t mean
tired like that.
i meant tired
like i don’t want to be alive.
but no one
heard me.
lizie May 27
i tell my mom i’m fine
with a smile that tastes like rust.
every “i’m okay”
tightens something in my chest.

i nod in therapy
when she asks if the thoughts are gone.
they’re not.
but i’m tired of proving i’m hurting.

i say i haven’t talked to you,
and maybe that’s true
if you don’t count dreams,
or the poems you still live in.

i used to think lying
was a way to keep the peace.
but now it just feels
like bleeding beneath a bandaid.

and i don’t want to lie anymore.
not to her.
not to them.
not to myself.
May 26 · 68
march in step
lizie May 26
we marched in time,
feet hitting pavement
like the heartbeat we used to share.
the sun pressed down,
but we joked through it,
like nothing had ever broken.

your tap on my back
when i swayed
said more than words,
like you still notice
when i’m not okay.

our saxes pointed forward,
but we kept glancing sideways,
as if the past might fall
from the corner of our eyes.

we weren’t out of tune,
just playing a quieter song,
one the crowd couldn’t hear.
just us.
still in step.
May 26 · 49
sunburn memories
lizie May 26
i used to think love was fire,
bright, consuming,
burning everything it touched.

but with you,
it felt more like daylight,
quiet and golden,
something that warmed
without asking for anything back.

you had those soft gold eyes,
like morning sun
on a window,
and i wanted to be that light,
the kind you reach for,
the kind that stays.

i was sunshine, once.
i know that.
the kind that made you squint
but smile anyway.
but maybe even sunshine
can overstay its welcome,
leave behind a burn
you never meant to carry.

and now i wonder
if i’m just a sunburn memory,
the kind that lingers
long after the warmth is gone.
May 26 · 56
afterlight
lizie May 26
the sun loved me a little too long,
and now i carry it,
this quiet burn,
like the way your name still lingers
even when i don’t say it out loud.

my skin will peel
in places where it once glowed,
the way feelings fade
but never quite leave.
and maybe i knew
i’d get hurt,
but i stayed outside anyway.

because sometimes,
you miss the warmth
more than you mind the pain.
this is how love lingers,
not in fire,
but in afterlight.
May 26 · 60
to sink
lizie May 26
i laughed today
but joy is light
and i am not.
so when the quiet came,
i sank like stone.
May 24 · 61
what we used to have
lizie May 24
you’re not mine anymore,
but sometimes i forget.
i still turn toward the sound
of your name like instinct,
like how birds are drawn north.

you were saturday mornings and saxophone solos,
the quiet buzz during swim meets,
the boy who held my words
like they were something sacred.

i still see your eyes
in coffee cups and the sun,
still hear your laugh
in the songs i swore
i’d stop listening to.

some loves don’t leave.
and missing you,
it’s a kind of music now.
not always loud.
just always playing.
May 24 · 115
Untitled
lizie May 24
i used to be a whole person,
but now fragments of me
are in living within
people i don’t call.
May 24 · 236
they don’t know
lizie May 24
my “friends,”
they’re planning a trip,
all joy and noise,
asking me my availability.
i don’t want to go.
they don’t know
i take off my smile at night,
like a soaked-through costume.
they don’t know
the girl in their group chat
is just a mask i wear
so i don’t disappear.
they have never realized
every night i struggle
to make it to morning.
i don’t know what to do. they’ll be mad if i don’t go, but i just don’t think i can handle it.
May 24 · 71
any more/anymore
lizie May 24
i don’t think i can love you any more.
but i don’t think i can love you anymore.
May 24 · 56
proof
lizie May 24
i think about
how mom panicked
when i told her i had cut,
as if she could fix it
if she moved fast enough.

i think about
how dad cried,
eyes breaking like mirrors.
he never cries.

i think about
how the doctor looked at me,
all pity and pleading,
“just let me see,”
like proof would help her understand.

but it’s not about seeing.
it’s about feeling
what no one else
can carry for me.
May 24 · 71
i want to bleed
lizie May 24
the bath is quiet,
but not quiet enough.
the water doesn’t burn,
and that disappoints me.

it’s been a week and a half,
eleven days of pretending
my skin doesn’t beg
to be opened.

there is no crisis,
just a low, steady hum
of want.
of ache.
of need.

i don’t want to die.
i just want to bleed.
May 23 · 66
Untitled
lizie May 23
emotional pain doesn’t have a home,
but physical pain does.
that’s why i cut.
May 23 · 65
loving you from afar
lizie May 23
you are piano melodies.
every note soft, deliberate, aching.
i know your music by heart
but i can’t touch the keys.

your hair is chaos
in the most gentle way.
messy brown strands
i want to smooth down
just once.
just once.

your eyes.
golden brown and searching,
like they’re always looking
for something deeper,
just never in me.

and when you smile,
the world gets quiet.
it’s not a metaphor,
it’s just what happens.
like the sky pauses
to listen to you be kind.

your laugh sounds like music.
not the sad kind, either.
the kind that fills a room
and makes it feel warmer.
and god,
i wish it were for me.

but this is how i love you:
at a distance.
in silence.
from behind the safety
of poems and timing
and unspoken things.

you are not mine.
but some loves don’t ask
for ownership,
just the privilege
of still feeling them.
lizie May 23
i went to the doctor
to check in on my meds.
i told her that nothing felt different.
she celebrated like it was good.
i don’t think it is.
i think i need something to change,
right now.

she begged me to show her
the cuts stacked neatly on my leg.
but i wouldn’t.
no one should see my pain,
not when she’ll look at it
with disgust.

i found
i couldn’t look her in the eye.
this is because
she had brilliant brown eyes,
and they reminded me of yours.
i think they’re gorgeous
but it also hurt to see.

i wish we could still talk.
maybe i’ll say hello to you,
but i don’t know what else i’d say
and if you would even
want to hear from me.
don’t forget,
you can always reach out.

school is almost over,
and i’m glad.
summer means working my *** off,
and summer means
i don’t have to see you
and feel that pain in my chest.

i miss you i miss you.
despite your comment on my poem,
you’re not some stupid boy.
and i know that
because i am not a stupid girl.
i wouldn’t give my heart
to someone who didn’t deserve it.
lizie May 22
“can’t repeat the past?” he said.
“why of course you can.”
and god, i believed him.
still do, most days.
because i see you
in every flash of spring,
in the gold glint of things
i was never meant to hold.

the green light still blinks,
even if it’s just in my head,
a soft pulse saying
you were real,
you were mine,
once.

i built my love the way he did:
with trembling hands,
and too much hope.
like maybe if i hurt enough,
time will fold in on itself,
and we’ll be sixteen
and invincible
again.

but dreams die slow,
especially the beautiful ones.
and i’m still reaching across water
for something
that won’t reach back.

i keep thinking:
the past isn’t dead
if i still ache for it.
but maybe that’s just part
of the story i keep telling myself,
a softer lie
than letting go.
this is a great gatsby-inspired piece. this is for the green light i still look for. and the boy i still see in it.
lizie May 22
i can’t decide if it’s weird
to write these still,
knowing that you could read them.
only if you wanted to.
i can’t decide.

but i’ll write anyway,
because if i can’t talk to you,
i might as well write.
we talk a little bit,
but i can’t decide if it’s nice
or if it hurts.

but we’ll talk anyway.
a little bit i guess.
i don’t know.
today is just
a day of indecision.
isn’t that my whole problem?

the first time,
i couldn’t decide if
i should follow my heart,
or listen to my family.
i chose my family.
i regret it every day.

the second time,
i couldn’t decided what i wanted.
did i want you?
or just your friendship?
i was confused.
but i’m not anymore.

the third time,
i couldn’t make the decision.
i couldn’t do what had to be done
so that we could be us.
together.
i’m ******* stupid.
and now it’s too late.
May 21 · 57
spell it again
lizie May 21
i could’ve sworn
love started with an s
and ended with an n,
four letters that felt
like home in my mouth.

your name,
a prayer i whispered
into my pillowcase,
half-hope, half-memory.

i still trace it
on foggy windows
and in the quiet parts
of my day.

i keep forgetting
how to forget you.
May 21 · 128
chaperone
lizie May 21
no one’s here
to guard the quiet,
no voice to say enough
when the silence
starts sharpening.

i wish i didn’t need
a chaperone for my sadness,
didn’t fear
what i might do
when left alone
with my own hands.
May 21 · 62
not this time
lizie May 21
today, the urge
was louder than usual.
it followed me
through every number,
clung to my pencil
as i finished my math test
with shaking hands.

in jazz band,
it buzzed under the keys,
twisting under every note
like it belonged there.

i saw blood in places
it didn’t belong.
on the paper,
on my lap,
on the floor of my mind.

but i didn’t let it out.
not today.
not this time.
May 21 · 201
my mantra
lizie May 21
i read,
reread,
your poems not once,
not twice,
over and over
like a mantra.
sometimes a little bit of you
is enough.
and sometimes,
it’s not.
May 21 · 64
tourniquet
lizie May 21
i curled up in my mother’s bed
because i knew what i’d do if i didn’t.
she didn’t ask why.
she just let me stay.
she knew why,
and i think it hurt her to know.
but not as much
as it would’ve hurt
if i hadn’t stayed.
mothers know things.
like how silence can bleed.
and how company
can be a tourniquet.
May 20 · 104
Untitled
lizie May 20
this has been the longest 47 hours of my life
May 20 · 40
session two
lizie May 20
i come clean
with chlorine in my hair
and a damp towel heart,
still wrung out
from pretending i’m fine.

she asks me
to hold my sadness
up to the light
like it’s a gemstone
i forgot i was wearing.

on a scale of one to ten—
(what if it’s an eight
but shaped like a childhood memory?)
i say “seven.”
i lie.
or maybe i don’t.

she asks me to measure it,
but how do you chart
a thunderstorm’s favorite room?
how do you scale
the hush of drowning?
still, i try.

she nods
like she understands.
and maybe she does.
or maybe she just knows
how to fold a pause
into something gentle.

she writes,
i wonder what part of me
she’s translating
into numbers,
into categories of deficits.

either way,
i press “leave meeting”
and stare at the screen
long after it goes black.
not sure if anything changed,
but at least
i showed up.
May 19 · 720
poem no. 303
lizie May 19
it’s selfish,
but i love
that every word i give you
turns into poetry.
May 19 · 48
what’s left unread
lizie May 19
i don’t blame you
for not reading the things i write.
you’ve made a boundary,
clear, kind,
and i’ll tried my best to honor it.

but still,
sometimes i wish
you could see how often
your name falls between the lines
when i don’t mean for it to.

not out of obsession,
not because i’m holding on,
but because love like that
doesn’t vanish,
it lingers in the ink.

and if you ever do read them,
if the words ever find their way to you,
i hope they don’t feel like a betrayal.
i hope they just feel like
truth.
lizie May 19
i read your poem.
even though it made my heart hurt,
it’s nice to know you
don’t hate me.
i don’t think.

it’s funny,
10 things i hate about you
is one of my favorite movies.
so many people say
that i look like the lead.

i wonder if you read my poems.
if you analyze them
they way that i analyze yours.
i wonder if you try to keep up
or if it hurts too bad.
believe me,
it hurts.

it’s almost two weeks
on my medicine,
and i feel no different.
i guess that’s expected
but i’m just tired
of nothing changing.

i have therapy tomorrow.
i’m already dreading it.
she kept saying
“promote awareness”
as if i didn’t know
she was reading off a script.
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