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.

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 want to die,
but i can’t.
i won’t.
not yet.
i need more courage,
more strength.

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.

i feel it coming back again.
the noisy kind of quiet.
the kind that folds me in half
without warning.

and i think about telling you.
typing it out.
waiting for your name to light up
with something soft in return.

but last time,
you didn’t know what to say.
and i felt worse
for needing you at all.

so now i’m stuck
between silence and trying again.
between “i’m fine”
and “i don’t know how to be okay.”

you say you want to be there.
i want to believe you.
i want to think that maybe one day
you’ll hold this ache
like you’ll hold me,
not perfectly,
just enough
to remind me i’m not alone.

but right now,
i stay plagued with the thought of
“do i tell you?”

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.

i don’t want a new life.
just this one,
rewound.

same people,
same streets,
same chances.
but this time,
i choose right.
i speak when i should.
i leave when i must.
i keep the pieces
of myself intact.

maybe then
i wouldn’t carry
a body full of regret.
a mind
scribbled out
and rewritten
too many times
to read clearly.

i don’t want to vanish.
i just want to undo
what broke me.

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.

my name was just letters
until you said it,
soft, certain,
like it belonged to someone worth holding.
you gave it weight,
a kind of beauty
i never saw alone,
until you spoke it,
and it became yours.

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.

im running on empty
wish there was a way out

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

i wish it was enough.
why can’t it be enough?

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 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’re not posting on hello poetry anymore.
you’re not reading my words,
not twisting them,
not waiting for me to say your name.

i don’t have to write around you now.
i don’t have to fear your eyes
dragging through every line.

it’s strange,
but freeing
to know my poems are mine again.

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 wish it was just
you and me,
alone,
forever.