is everyone else broken like me,

just better at hiding it??



or is everyone else okay,

except for me??

how do i go back to when i was happy…?

i used to need you like air,
sneaking away just to see your name light up my screen.
now i sit in the same room, same noise, same routine,
but without you, there’s nothing to run to.
instead, the cuts burn beneath my sweats,
a different kind of craving,
a different kind of absence.
i don’t reach for my phone anymore,
just press my hands to my legs and wait for it to pass.

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

you were the piece of driftwood
keeping me above the waves.
i never noticed how deep the water was
until i let go.

now, the tide pulls heavy,
and i am tired.
sometimes, you find me,
you put your hands beneath my shoulders,
lifting me just high enough
to steal a breath of air.

but you are not mine to hold onto,
so the moment slips,
and the water takes me again.
i am just adrift.

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

it’s totally okay to go to bed a little hungry

i tell myself

i am breaking down,
a flood behind my eyes,
a weight i cannot carry,
a silence i can’t disguise.

the walls feel too close,
my thoughts too loud—
a scream that no one hears
in a room without a crowd.

this is the end.
this is all there is.

somehow i knew
i was going to fall in love with you
even years before i did

everything between us
has always felt different
like every smile you give to me is sacred

i first felt it when i saw
the way your eyes shined in the sun
bright and full of promise

i knew it before i could admit it
before love had a name
and it was yours

“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.

am i a poet?
because lately, i don’t think so.
no longer do i have the strength
to write more than a couple lines.
all i feel is despair,
and the desperate need to be alive again.
am i even a poet?
maybe i’m not.
maybe i’m just someone
who writes down their pain
and calls it art.

i am trying to be okay.
i am trying to be anything but this.
but my hands shake, my mind spins,
and i wonder if i was ever whole to begin with.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

i may have dug the hole
but you pushed me into it
now i’m stuck down here
buried in this mess

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

please

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.

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 post things i don’t even care about just to make you wonder if i’m still someone worth missing

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.

E. your laugh is a melody that i long to hear.
i’ve memorized how it feels to find you in every moment.


S. I missed you more than anyone could know, and I can’t lose you again, don’t leave anymore.
You know me more than anyone else, and nobody knows you know anything.


E. the secret of us is in the way we keep making eye contact when no one’s watching.


S. I can’t stop looking at your beautiful face, did you notice?


E. those golden eyes are sometimes stormy, yet somehow always home.


S. Your hair waves in the breeze, golden strands shining brighter than the sun.


E. with you, i never feel like drowning, it feels like breathing again.


S. I love you so much my heart grew.

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

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

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.

i am the only one who knows how quietly i am disappearing

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.

i don’t know what i’m supposed to do
with a body that doesn’t feel like mine,
always too much, always too little,
but never just right.

i cut away pieces of myself
yet i’m still too much.
it feels wrong, always wrong.
i look and see nothing but flaws
clinging to my skin like it’s suffocating,
i hate it for just existing.

i look at my reflection and feel disgusting,
a canvas of mistakes
that i can’t seem to wipe away,
no matter how hard i try.