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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

answer me this:
am i doing a good job
pretending i’m not
hopelessly in love with you?

do i smile at the right moments,
laugh at the right jokes,
look away just enough
to seem indifferent?

do i say his name
like it means something,
like it isn’t just
a placeholder for yours?

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.

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 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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

the snow falls, but it doesn’t stay
even december can’t make me whole again

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 don’t mean for it to happen,
but every poem i write is yours.
whether you read them or not,
whether you care or not,
whether you even think of me.

he is just him—
a mention, a fact, a presence.
but you—
you are in every line,
every unfinished thought,
every word i never meant to say
but somehow always do.

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 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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.