i thought i was fine
until i saw you smile at her
it shouldn’t hurt
but it does.
i let go of you
long before you let go of me
and somehow
that makes it worse.

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.

i love the way snow transforms the world,
makes it cleaner,
brighter,
softer.
it wraps everything in a quiet that feels holy,
like the world is holding its breath
just to listen.

but even snow melts.
it retreats in patches,
revealing the grass,
the cracks in the pavement,
the things i tried to forget beneath the frost.

i think that’s what scares me.
the way beauty can vanish,
the way stillness fades,
how the cold that once felt comforting
can turn to mud in your hands.

nothing stays covered forever.
and maybe that’s the point—
to see what remains
when the snow is gone.

something about me—
i am full of love,
though it spills unevenly,
pooling in places
that were never meant to hold it.

i am not an optimist,
but i will always cradle someone’s pain,
even when my arms shake,
even when my chest cracks open
to make room for the weight of it.

i forgive easily,
though my memory is stubborn,
carving scars where kindness once rested.
it gets hard—
so hard—
when my love is unreturned,
when it is a whisper in a storm,
or a hand reaching for nothing.

but i will always stay,
always say,
“be who you are,
even if it costs me
a piece of myself.”

i feel things deeply—
every joy, every wound—
and i carry them,
because being human
is not just surviving the hurt
but finding the strength
to keep loving anyway.

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.

this boy gave me tic tacs in fourth grade,
his kindness was small and orange,
wrapped in a plastic rattle
i thought might mean something more.
he was every girl’s daydream,
but i didn’t mind sharing back then.

this boy was eighth grade’s laugh track,
a joke always waiting in the wings.
i thought i could keep him smiling forever,
even as i knew his heart wasn’t looking for mine.
still, i wanted to try.

this boy was tenth grade’s lesson in heartbreak.
he saw my body before he saw me,
his words cutting deeper than i knew words could.
i thought love meant shrinking
until there was less of me to hurt.

this boy was the maybe that never was.
he was so funny, so magnetic—
so not mine.
i watched him from the sidelines,
a story unwritten because
it already had a leading lady.

this boy was the almost that still stings.
we talked until my heart felt full,
until i thought i’d finally found the one
who might see all of me.
but some stories unravel
before you can tie them together.

this boy is now,
and now feels good.
it feels like laughter and warmth,
like someone who chooses me
without hesitation,
without conditions.
i don’t know how this story ends,
but for the first time,
i’m not afraid to turn the page.

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?

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.

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.

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

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

november bows out with quiet grace,
its brittle breath dissolving into frost.
the trees stand stripped, bare arms raised,
waving goodbye to what was.

december steps in with a silver grin,
soft snow settling where footsteps fade.
it promises warmth in the cold,
but only if you look close enough.

life is this endless passing,
an overlap of endings and starts.
we shed the old like autumn leaves,
and wear the new like winter’s coat.

somewhere in the shifting winds,
we learn to hold both loss and hope.
november teaches how to let go,
while December whispers, begin again.

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

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.

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.

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 am the only one who knows how quietly i am disappearing

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.

you were never mine,
but god, i wanted you to be.
i wanted to bottle your laugh,
to trace the edges of your grin
like it held the answer
to everything i’ve been missing.

you, with your effortless charm,
your easy way of lighting up the dark.
i was just someone standing too close,
trying to catch the glow.

we were nothing,
and yet, i keep replaying
the moments we almost were.
your voice still echoes in my mind,
a melody i’ll never get to finish.

you are gone now,
and i’ve learned to live
in the absence of your warmth,
but every now and then,
i feel the ghost of you—
and it almost feels like love.

i told her,
“it’s not an eating disorder,
it’s just how i feel.”

but how do i explain
the emptiness that fills me
when i skip a meal,
or the way my stomach twists
like it knows i haven’t earned the right
to be full?

i told her,
“it’s just how i feel,”
but deep down,
i wonder if feelings
can ruin you too.

you texted me today
asking me how i’ve been
i didn’t have the heart to tell you
that i’m drowning in a sea of thought
crushed beneath the pressure and pain
so i told you i’m good
(as if my arms aren’t littered with scars)
how are you?

it almost took her once.
the quiet visitor she never called,
the thought that slips in uninvited,
nestles in the corners of her mind,
and waits.

she carries it like a secret,
pressed deep into her aching chest,
a weight no one else can see.
some days, it whispers,
soft as falling leaves.
other days, it roars,
demanding its due.

she doesn’t want to leave,
no, not really.
but she wonders how much longer
she can bear the burden of staying,
if it is even worth it anymore.

they tell her it’s a choice.
they don’t see the fight.
the way her hands tremble
on the edge of surrender,
how her heart pleads
to keep beating.

she survives for now,
but the uninvited waits,
patient as ever,
just beyond the door.

you don’t notice the sun
until it slips below the horizon,
taking warmth and light
to some other corner of the world.

you don’t hear the clock
until the room falls silent,
each tick louder than
the love you took for granted.

you don’t see the magic of childhood
until you’re looking back,
realizing the world was perfect once,
and you didn’t even know.

you don’t feel the weight of silence
until their voice is gone,
the words they don’t say
echoing louder than the ones they did.

you don’t know what you’ve got
until it’s nothing but a memory,
a ghost you can’t outrun,
a lesson learned too late.

you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

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.

there’s a quiet kind of grief
in wanting to scream but choosing silence,
in driving nowhere just to feel the road
pull you back into your body.

some days, my reflection feels like a stranger,
a ghost of who i thought i’d become.
other days, i’m just tired—
of waiting for apologies
that won’t come,
of remembering things that didn’t end right,
of waking up hoping
it might feel different.

there’s a heaviness in holding on
to people who’ve already let you go,
a hollowness in pretending
you don’t feel the gap
where they used to be.
but even in the absence,
you play their songs like prayers—
a melody to make the pain
feel like it belongs to someone else.

something is wrong with me—
i’ve taken more naps in the past five days
than i’ve taken in the past five years.
it feels like my body is trying to stop time,
but the clock keeps ticking anyway.

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.

it’s my body that bears the proof,
a shoulder torn by the thing i adore.
the water calls me, and i answer,
though it leaves me aching to the core.

isn’t this the way of it?
the things we love demand their price.
a bicep strained, a heart undone,
each lap of joy, a sacrifice.

but i keep coming back,
to the pool, to the pain, to the hope.
even when it hurts, it’s worth it—
a lesson etched in every stroke.

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

“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.

dear alex,

i miss you.
not in the way i used to—not the quiet crush
i carried like a secret in my pocket.
you never knew, and i guess that’s okay.
i’m over it now.
but i miss your jokes, the way class felt lighter
when you were there.
without you, the silence feels too heavy,
and i keep glancing at your old seat
like the echoes of your laugh might still be there.
but now somebody else takes it up,
somebody who can’t fill your shoes.

sometimes i think
maybe in another life,
you would’ve liked me back.
or maybe we’d just be closer friends,
and i wouldn’t have to miss you like this.
but here we are, and you’re gone,
and i’m left missing the way
you made every moment
feel a little more alive.

good luck in college,
lizie

i think there’s something wrong with me
because christmas is coming,
and i’m still not happy.

christmas is coming,
and i’m supposed to feel something—
but i don’t.

is it my fault the lights
don’t shine like they used to?

i beg the season to save me,
clinging to the hope
that maybe everything will feel okay again.

but christmas is coming,
and it doesn’t feel like it’s for me.
it’s for the ones who believe,
the ones who don’t cry when the snow falls.

i don’t want to feel this way,
but i can’t remember how not to.

yesterday, i visited the trainer before swim practice,
shivering in just my suit,
she pushed and prodded,
trying to determine what was wrong with my shoulder.

“lift your arms,” she said,
and as i did,
i noticed her eyes catch the scars.
she looked at me,
then at my arms,
and back again.

today, during class, the phone rang.
i prayed it wasn’t for me.
when my teacher handed me a pass,
my nightmare began:
visit guidance after class.

heart pounding, i stood outside the door,
and kept walking.
how could i explain
that i’m not trying to die—
i just don’t know another way
to carry the weight of living?

tomorrow is coming,
but i don’t know what it holds,
and i’m terrified.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

we didn’t start as friends—
you were too much like me,
a mirror i didn’t want to face.
but somewhere between second grade
and the secret worlds we built,
you became the only person
i never had to explain myself to.

years passed like waves;
distance came with the tide.
i found new circles,
but no one else could hold
the weight of my childhood
the way you do.

you’re my always.
the friend who never leaves,
even when we don’t speak for weeks.
our unspeakable vow,
etched in the laughter of simpler days.
and when the world feels too much,
it’s you i find waiting,
like a light i’ll never lose.

i write, because i’m not sure who else to be.
i’m 16, but the weight of this world—
it feels heavier than it should be,
like a heart that’s growing old
before it even learns how to beat right.

i don’t feel enough.
not good enough, not strong enough,
not worthy of love, or kindness,
or the friendships i hold so tight
because i’m terrified to let go
even though the grip hurts.

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.

i know, i should be better at letting go.
but how do you stop holding on
to the one person who once made you feel alive
when they’re the same one who now brings you to your knees?

they say time heals everything,
but i think time just buries things deeper.
i bury my emotions in my poetry,
where no one can see the cracks,
where i can pretend
i’m not drowning in my own words.

i’m learning to forgive,
but i still don’t know how to forget.
i give so much,
but it feels like no one gives enough back,
and i wonder if they can ever love me
the way i love them.

i’ve pushed people away
because i’m scared of them leaving first.
i’ve hurt others
because i didn’t know how to handle the mess inside me.
i’ve told lies to protect my heart
and made promises i can’t keep.
but i keep trying to make them feel heard
even when i’m screaming for someone to hear me.

i’m not perfect,
and i don’t expect anyone else to be either.
but how do i find peace in a world
where i’m always trying to make sense of things
that don’t make sense?

i want to be seen,
but not for who i think i am,
but for who i could be.
if i could be free,
if i could just be me,
i’d show you all the pieces i’ve been hiding,
the ones i thought were too broken to share.

but for now, i’ll write
and hope you hear me through these words.
i’ll hold on to the ones who love me
the way i want to be loved
and keep searching for the strength
to let go of the ones who won’t.

maybe one day i’ll find my place.
but until then, i’ll keep writing,
because it’s the only thing
that makes me feel whole.