i don’t know what to write about if it’s not about you

you told me i’d be better off.
i told you i was fine.
we lied,
but i kept the silence warm,
kept your name pressed
into the back of my mind,
like a bruise i didn’t want to heal.

i carried the ghost of us,
let it haunt every corner,
let it seep into everything,
because forgetting felt like losing you twice.

but i’m done now.
this is the last poem i write for you,
the last time i dress my pain up
to make it look like love.
you and i are dead,
and i won’t keep trying
to breathe life into a grave.

you told me i’d be better off.
i told you i was fine.
we lied—
but now i’ll tell myself the truth.

how could anyone love an eliza
when it stumbles off my tongue
like it doesn’t belong to me?

i told the moon my secrets,
but she turned away.
even the sky,
it seems,
cannot bear the weight of me.

i’m sorry

i cut up my leg today
thinking no one would see
thinking swim was over
thinking i was safe
but tomorrow
i’ll stand by the pool
water reflecting back at me
and i’ll wonder if they’ll notice
the way regret looks like red lines
against my skin

yeah, call me a ****.
it must be why i’m not only afraid of intimacy,
but any sort of physical touch as well.

valentine’s day came and went,
but i barely noticed—
too busy drowning in a loneliness
i can’t even name.

a secret im too scared to share with anyone
except random strangers on the internet:
i wish i had an eating disorder.
i would be sad
but at least i’d be skinny.

im sorry.
i really am.

one year ago today,
you reached out for the first time.
my mom says i dodged a bullet,
but i know—
i would’ve taken that bullet for you,
been collateral in your war.

except now
it might be my own bullet.

he’s not broken like me,
so i hide my cracks—
afraid he’ll see the light
slipping through.

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

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

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?

my heart hurts
i can feel it in my chest

i wish i could feel it
the ache of not being enough
the way it once cracked me open

but now
there’s only silence
an emptiness where sorrow should live

nothing breaking

nothing healing

just

n u m b n e s s

still

my new year’s resolution
is to take my medicine every night

why would i not take it
if it keeps me whole?

i don’t know
i wish you could tell me

this is really hard to talk about.

i think there’s something
wrong
with me.

i’m afraid to be intimate with him.

the smell of his cologne
makes me
nauseous
because it reminds me
of things i’m ashamed of.  

most of my
innocence
is still intact.

but that doesn’t mean
that one day i won’t be
strong
enough to say
no.

but i love him.

i didn’t smell your cologne today.
you saw my swollen red eyes in class
and you didn’t ask if i was okay.
you didn’t laugh when i made a joke—
you just looked away.

“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

i can’t believe how easy you made it to forget me

her words settle like dust
on the edges of mirrors
i already avoid.

she called me names
i’ve spent years
unlearning.

her voice wasn’t loud,
but it carried—
straight to the part of me
that still believes
every insult
ever whispered.

i tell myself she’s wrong,
but i know i’ll carry this
long after she’s forgotten
she ever said it.

all this anger and all this sorrow
used to be love

it used to be laughter
and late-night texts
the kind of thing
we swore will never fade

but now, it’s a weight
i carry alone
all the silence
every moment i wish i could take back

what do you do
when something so beautiful
turns into this?

grief was sharp when i lost her,
a knife that cut clean.
it hurt, but at least i knew why.
now the sadness has no name,
just a weight i can’t put down,
a dull ache that never leaves,
a quiet kind of drowning.
i don’t know what’s worse,
the pain that made me cry
or the emptiness that won’t let me feel.

i always know it’s getting bad
when i start chewing on the tie of my sweatshirt.
i think it’s called an
aglet,
but all i know is,
it’s fraying like
me.

of all the people i’ve learned to disappoint,
none have been as cruel as me.
a jury of one, gavel in hand,
i recite my faults like scripture.

i live in a house i’ve built of mirrors—
every reflection a version i loathe.
the walls don’t crack,
but i do,
trying to escape the frame.

even my shadow turns its back.

the vacuum hums,
and i feel it in my chest—
a restless kind of anger,
like a match about to strike.

maybe it’s because the sound
reminds me of yelling,
of my mom’s voice tearing
through the air like it had teeth.
when i hear it now,
i want to scream back,
but there’s no one here to blame.

the only time i can stand it
is when my hands are on the handle,
when i’m in control of the noise.
maybe that’s the metaphor:
it’s not the sound,
but the power to make it stop.

there’s a guilt i can’t explain,
an ache without a name,
like i’m sorry for something
i never became.

i’m easy to hold,
but impossible to reach

he told me his sister tried to die,
and i sat there, silent,
holding my own secret like a stone
in my throat,
wishing i could tell him
but terrified he’d hate me for it.

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

i felt
happy
today

i will not
let myself
ruin it

i don’t love him, not really.
but i like him a lot.

i don’t like you, not at all.
sometimes, i think i hate you.

but somehow
i still love you.

it’s weird

i lost you in the quiet moments,
when the words felt heavy and broken.
i think of calling, but i think i’m blocked.
you don’t love me anymore.

i lost you in the crowded spaces,
where laughter vanished and shadows grew.
i reached for you, but you were gone.
you don’t love me anymore.

you don’t love me anymore.
you don’t love me anymore.
you don’t love me anymore.
you don’t love me anymore.

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.

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

im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past

i don’t think i understand the point of love.
it always leaves me hurt—
empty, sad, hollow.
yet, i still keep falling,
as if the crash
will one day
feel like flying.

you said you didn’t understand me
because you can’t think of a reason i should be sad for.
how do i explain depression
to someone who only knows sunlight,
whose heart has never grown heavy with rain,
who has never felt the weight of nothing at all?

you can’t understand,
because you’ve never fought your own mind,
never tried to build joy
from the rubble of yourself.
how do i explain?
i don’t.

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