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.

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

i’m sorry

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

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

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?

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 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

“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

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.

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.

starting tomorrow,
everything will be okay.
not because the world will shift,
or because the storms will stop,
but because i said so.

i’ve whispered it into the cracks
of my breaking heart,
etched it into the sky
that feels too heavy to hold.

i don’t believe it yet,
not fully,
but maybe if i say it enough,
the weight will lighten,
the sun will stay a little longer,
and the darkness will lose its grip.

starting tomorrow,
i’ll keep saying it.
and maybe, one day,
it’ll be true.

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.

she called me a ****,
as if the word could sink into my skin
and define the person i am.

but i am not that
(couldn’t be farther than that).
i long for what she can’t see—
a love that is honest,
a connection without walls,
a trust that doesn’t crumble
when the world’s gaze turns sharp.

her words aren’t true,
but they still found their mark,
like arrows tipped with shadows.
it hurts,
not because i believe her,
but because she believed
that tearing me down
was easier than understanding me.

i am not what she said.
i am someone
who loves deeply,
who craves meaning in a world
that so often refuses to give it.
she doesn’t know me,
but i know myself.
snd that has to be enough.

and yet, what hurts the most
is that she knows me.

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.

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

january met december in the folds of a fading year,
a moment stolen between frost-kissed whispers,
their breaths clouding in the air like secrets
too fragile to ever be spoken aloud.

“you feel like me,” january murmured,
“cold, distant, yet burning inside.
you know what it’s like to hold endings in your palms
and pretend they’re beginnings.”

“i know,” december sighed,
“and you—
you know how it feels to start over
when you’re not yet ready to let go.”

they danced on the edges of time,
two mirrors reflecting the same aching soul,
their closeness fleeting, their yearning endless,
bound by something stronger than love—
the cruel rhythm of the clock.

“stay,” january begged,
but december was already fading,
dragged backward by the relentless pull of the seasons.
“i would,” december whispered,
“if only time would let me.”

and so they parted,
leaving their longing scattered like snowflakes
on the bridge between years.

i think of him when i see january,
when i feel december slipping away.
we fit so perfectly, like the edges of a broken year,
but the world didn’t allow us to remain.

i miss him in the spaces where time can’t touch,
in the echoes of all the things we almost were.
like january and december,
i loved him in the quiet moments we stole—
and lost him to the hands of a clock
i couldn’t stop.

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?

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’m not doing well
will someone lend me a word that doesn’t ache?
something simple, something true—
a word to feel whole, just for a moment

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.

she saved me once,
when the world was too heavy,
when the summer stretched too long,
and i was ready to end it all.
she pulled me back,
her hand steady, her words soft,
and i clung to her like a lifeline.

but lifelines fray,
and so did she.
with every lie,
every whispered knife in my back,
she unraveled what we had.
i forgave her—again and again—
because i thought love was stronger than pain.

yet now i see,
she has woven herself into my heart,
into the things that make me whole,
and cutting her free
feels like tearing pieces of myself away.

how do you save yourself
from someone who once saved you?
how do you walk away
from the place where love and hurt
are tangled so tightly
you can’t tell them apart?

still, i know:
this isn’t living.
and if i stay,
i may not live at all.

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?

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

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.

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.”

disappointment hit me like a truck,
an unexpected collision on a quiet street.
i have to gather the pieces of myself,
press them back into place,
pretend they were never scattered.
i have to.

i smile like it’s armor,
i laugh like it’s easy.
i nod, i work, i move,
as if the ground beneath me isn’t cracked,
as if the weight on my chest isn’t real.

how do i function
with this quiet ache,
this invisible bruise?
(someone tell me)
i’m a puppet on strings,
pulled into the shape of “fine.”

no one asks,
and i don’t tell.
the show must go on,
even when the spotlight burns.

body dysmorphia is a strange thing
it makes getting dressed hard
and loving your body even harder
yet i wish, in the darkest parts of me
that i have it—
if only to explain
why i look like this

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.

it’s harder to exist when you feel like you’re just floating.
i tell myself i’m fine, but i’m not.
i’m tired of pretending i’m whole
when i’ve left pieces of myself
scattered in the people i loved
and now i can’t find them anymore.

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?

i wear the grades like a mask,
convincing everyone but myself.
even in the things i love,
it feels like someone else’s hands
are moving through me,
creating things i don’t deserve.

when will they notice?
when will i?

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.

it’s midnight
i’m drinking hot chocolate
(do you remember?)
and im wondering if things will ever be okay again

you already know how i wish i was a kid again
but then i wouldn’t have met you
so i’ll just sip on my hot chocolate
and think about life with you

sometimes im having a good day
and then i remember
and i remember
and remember

do you remember?
what about our midnight hot chocolate?
or did you forget that?
and did you forget me, too?

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.

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

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 speaks, i think the world falls silent
and in the stillness, i hear a thousand stories unravel.
his golden gaze, like dusk falling over a quiet lake,
leaves ripples where words would never fit.

i could’ve reached for his hand,
but in that space between us,
there was a kind of love that needs no touch,
a language built from everything unsaid.

his smile holds the quiet of a thousand mornings,
each one beginning but never lasting,
each glance a promise of a world unspoken,
where our hearts dance together, yet remain apart.

and i wonder, if i keep listening,
will the silence speak louder than my words?
or will it be the last thing i ever hear,
the echo of a love we never named?

you know, we never meant
for taylor swift’s “daylight”
to become our song,
but it did.
first, it was your golden brown eyes,
then every lyric felt like us.
i guess it’s not ours anymore—
now, it’s yours and hers.
but i can’t help thinking,
we had it first.