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136 · May 20
Untitled
lizie May 20
this has been the longest 47 hours of my life
136 · Dec 2024
??
lizie Dec 2024
??
is everyone else broken like me,

just better at hiding it??



or is everyone else okay,

except for me??
134 · Apr 17
waiting
lizie Apr 17
5am and i’m still awake
waiting for a sign
wondering if you even know
how to live with this pain.
134 · Feb 15
crack in the wall
lizie Feb 15
i build walls,
thick and tall,
afraid of what might slip through,
afraid of what i might feel.

he touches the bricks,
his fingers gentle,
but i flinch,
afraid of the weight of love,
the pressure of it all.

i want to let him in,
but fear wraps its arms around me,
its grip so tight i can’t breathe.
how can i ask for something
i don’t know how to give?

still, i whisper the truth,
just a crack in the wall,
hoping he’ll hear me,
hoping he’ll understand
that i’m trying,
even when i can’t be all of me.
avoidant attachment style? does anyone know anything about that?
133 · Dec 2024
christmas is coming
lizie Dec 2024
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.
i long for the christmas i once had
132 · Jun 12
adorable
lizie Jun 12
“have there been any safety concerns
since last week?”
“no,” i lie,
hoping she doesn’t
see the truth
sitting heavy in my eyes.

“have there been urges?”
“yes,” i say,
truthfully,
but like i’m afraid she’ll flinch.

“why don’t you act on them?”
“because i’m not allowed to anymore.”
it was the truth,
just wrapped in a lie.

she smiles.
“that’s adorable.”
130 · Mar 17
tally marks
lizie Mar 17
i know it’s wrong to love them,
those ugly, neat red lines,
stacked like tally marks,
like proof that i still feel something.
they stretch across my skin,
disgusting, maybe,
but mine.
130 · Nov 2024
summer thief
lizie Nov 2024
summer took you away from me three years ago and i’m still trying to figure out how to fill my empty heart
this is about my best friend
128 · Feb 27
confession
lizie Feb 27
i post things i don’t even care about just to make you wonder if i’m still someone worth missing
128 · May 28
i perpetuate my sadness
lizie May 28
by answering messages
i shouldn’t
and hoping for things
i can’t have.
127 · May 24
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.
127 · Nov 2024
a deep dive into her mind
lizie Nov 2024
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
(my mind)
127 · Jan 31
love bleeds
lizie Jan 31
i tried to make myself perfect for you
but love never bled the way i did
i thought if i carved enough of myself away
you’d find a reason to stay
126 · Dec 2024
because i said so
lizie Dec 2024
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.
starting tomorrow, everything will be okay
126 · Feb 6
okay
lizie Feb 6
i’m trying so hard to be okay
126 · Nov 2024
fragments of me
lizie Nov 2024
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.
thanks for the help kev
124 · May 23
Untitled
lizie May 23
emotional pain doesn’t have a home,
but physical pain does.
that’s why i cut.
lizie Nov 2024
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
editing on 11/30

it turns out i was the one keeping this alive

it’s dead now
124 · May 9
lie
lizie May 9
lie
“i’m not fragile”
i said
through trembling breaths.
“i know”
my mom replied
a little too quickly,
both words filled with pain,
almost like
she was trying to convince herself.
and we both were
pretending it was true.

all i ever do
is lie.
123 · Feb 6
it’s weird
lizie Feb 6
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
123 · May 26
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.
121 · Jun 2
Untitled
lizie Jun 2
who am i if not sad?
i’m scared to find out.
121 · Dec 2024
body clock
lizie Dec 2024
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.
121 · Jan 3
…?
lizie Jan 3
how do i go back to when i was happy…?
120 · Jul 17
bandaids
lizie Jul 17
bandaids on my wrist.
i wish they worked.
i wish i did.
120 · May 30
Untitled
lizie May 30
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?
119 · Feb 6
back then
lizie Feb 6
it’s killing me to know
we will never have what we used to.
nothing will ever be the same again.
no more late-night conversations,
no endless support,
no hopeless love—
at least, not with you.

maybe it’s for the best.
there was pain tangled in you,
and i didn’t care then.
i guess i should now.

but still, the need lingers—
to tell you this,
to share, to overshare,
the way we used to.
but things are different now.
would it be wrong to say it?
would it even matter?

it feels pathetic,
writing this like i lost you,
like you were ever mine to lose.
but it still feels like heartbreak,
even though your heart
was never in it like mine was.

i think i was your priority once.
oh, how times have changed.
and sometimes, i wish i could go back—
i was sad, lonely, drowning,
but i had you.
it might have been enough for me,
but it was never enough for you.

now i try to replicate what we had,
but nothing ever fits.
it still stings when you joke
about how your friends think we’re dating,
because maybe we could have been.
but we weren’t.

i don’t love you.
but i used to.
and i don’t love you anymore—
but i wish i did.
i wrote this like three years ago

it’s about a girl

god i was (am) pathetic
119 · Nov 2024
forever, but softer
lizie Nov 2024
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.
god i miss you sar. you’re my BFF
lizie May 28
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.
118 · Jan 13
how do i explain
lizie Jan 13
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.
117 · Dec 2024
this is why
lizie Dec 2024
they ask why we’re broken—
why teens drown in sadness,
why girls starve themselves,
why lives are lost to silence.
this is why.
116 · Nov 2024
three things
lizie Nov 2024
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
115 · Jun 8
today is kind
lizie Jun 8
woke up wrapped
in the warmth of being loved
by him, by the quiet.
the world felt gentle today.
no red lights
on the way to work.
no rush.
just open roads and soft skies,
like the universe decided
i deserved a breath of ease.
maybe,
just maybe,
today is kind.
115 · Feb 18
okay.
lizie Feb 18
“if you’re having a bad day, tell me.”
“i have a hard time doing that.”
“well, we could talk about it.”
“i don’t want to talk about it.”
“then just tell me, so i know.”
“but i’m always having a bad day.”
“then tell me.”
“okay.”
guess which one is me
114 · Dec 2024
the point
lizie Dec 2024
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.
113 · May 29
sean
lizie May 29
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.
113 · May 24
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.
112 · Feb 8
Untitled
lizie Feb 8
i carve myself down to the bone…

i can’t stop it…

help…
111 · May 31
his mind
lizie May 31
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.
110 · Feb 3
unwritten symphony
lizie Feb 3
i don’t write about it.
the music, the endless rehearsals,
the way the saxophone feels in my hands
like it’s breathing with me.
i don’t write about the late nights,
the competitions, the friendships forged
in the chaos of scales and solos.
instead, i let it live in the spaces
between my words,
where the sound lingers,
but i never let it spill onto the page.

maybe it’s because i’m scared.
scared i’ll sound like a nerd,
or that you will underestimate my potential,
or maybe that the music i love
will turn into something
i have to explain.
so i leave it unspoken,
a quiet symphony only i hear,
never written,
never shared.
today i thought about how weird it is that i never write about music even though it is the one thing i am truly passionate about and truly talented at
110 · Jun 14
poeticize
lizie Jun 14
i poeticize too much.
a glance becomes a story,
a pause becomes a metaphor.
you say “hi”
and suddenly i’m writing about the way
your voice cuts through the noise in my chest.

i turn us into sonnets
before we’ve even lived the scene.
your hand brushes mine
and it’s a whole stanza
about skin and gravity
and how maybe the universe
meant for this moment to happen.

you say “i didn’t sleep much last night,”
and i think:
the moon must’ve been jealous
of how bright you were yesterday.
i poeticize.
because the truth,
as it stands,
feels too raw.
too terrifying.
too good.

so i cover it in metaphors
and rhyme it with prettier pain
until it sounds like a poem
instead of a prayer.
and maybe that’s my way
of saying
i love you.

not in a loud, bright way.
but in the margins of notebooks,
in lyrics i never share,
in every sentence i twist
just to feel closer to you.

i poeticize
because plain words
can’t hold you.
but maybe
poetry can.
maybe i can learn to, too.
110 · Jun 6
sense
lizie Jun 6
saw a cut on my wrist today.
wished it was deeper.
wished i had done it.
at least then
it would’ve made sense.
110 · Feb 25
the morning birds
lizie Feb 25
i heard the morning birds chirping outside my window today
i thought: today is going to be a good day

i’ll be wrong
but it was nice to think it
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