is this what growing up is like?
losing a piece of myself,
over and over?
because if so,
i don’t want to anymore.

i felt
happy
today

i will not
let myself
ruin it

have you ever been so nervous
you felt your ribs were closing in,
your lungs trapped in their embrace,
each breath a desperate thief, stealing air?

have you ever been so nervous
your hands forgot their purpose,
shaking like leaves in a storm,
fingers betraying your will?

your stomach twists—
a knot that tightens with no end.
your heart, relentless,
beats faster than it should,
as if it’s running from itself.

you tell yourself to calm down.
you tell yourself it’s nothing.
but nothing feels this heavy,
nothing feels this alive,
this threatening to consume.

have you ever been so nervous
you thought, just for a moment,
that it might swallow you whole—
and you wouldn’t even fight it?

when he leans in
i can feel the weight of his want
his lips brush mine
and all i can think of is escape

it’s not his fault
not the way he cradles my face
nor the way his hands
search for a piece of me
i wish wasn’t there

i love him, i think
but love feels heavy when
it meets the mirror
i’ve spent years avoiding
his eyes are soft
but i don’t want them to see

i pull away
make excuses out of thin air
like smoke that lingers
and betrays the flame
he asks if something is wrong
and i wish i could answer

when i kiss him
i try to love him
but the hardest battle
is loving the body
he thinks belongs to me

i need help but it feels impossible to ask

i’ve been pretending to be okay all day but all i can think about is cutting

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.

i want to stop bleeding,
but the only one who’d understand
is the reason i start again.
there’s no one left to hold the weight
but me, and i’m so tired.

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.

Today I went for a bike ride.
We’re in a heat wave
So I rode under the cover of dusk,
Listening to the sweet melodies of the crickets.
I didn’t think there’d be another heat wave,
We’re on number four already.
But I guess this is how it is now.
It didn’t used to be like this.
The sky is pink and orange,
The July air smells faintly of smoke
And reminds me of summers long ago.
The kind of summer that I long for,
The one I spend my winter days anticipating,
The kind that I haven’t had in a while.
It’s still sweet,
But not sweet enough.
It didn’t used to be like this.
Remember how we used to bike?
Everyday?
And now I only do it
When I can find the time.
No.
Truthfully,
It’s when I can find the motivation to get off the couch,
And search for the feeling that I once had.
Yet I still can’t find the motivation
To answer all my texts.
Sarah, it didn’t used to be like this.
As the sun sets around me,
I think about how we would race the lingering light,
Praying we’d get you home
Before the light died,
And I wonder
Would that still be the rule
If you had stayed here with me?

i say i’m sorry
so you know i care.
because silence feels like giving up,
and i’d rather bruise myself with guilt
than make you wonder if i feel anything at all.

i say it
because i don’t know what else to say.
because love doesn’t always come out soft
when it lives in a body like mine.
a body that flinches from closeness,
but aches for it all the same.

i say it
because i break things.
people.
promises.
quiet moments that deserved to stay whole.
and i want you to know
that i see the damage,
that i’m not blind to what i cause.

how long can i be sorry
before i break?

before the guilt becomes a fault line,
and all my trying
just splits me in two?
before the apology
is the only thing left of me?

i say i’m sorry
because i still believe in glue,
in hands that hold,
in second chances.
but i don’t know
how many more times
i can be the one who breaks things
and still expect
to be held.

i say i’m sorry
because i love you.
and i’m terrified
that won’t be enough.

i wait for my sister’s breath to steady,
for dreams to pull her far from me—
because i can’t let her see this,
can’t let her know
that i am not whole.

i mess everything up
i can’t stop crying
i don’t know how to make things right
i’m not supposed to be a person that hurts others
i only hurt myself
i care

you say you’re too much,
like love is a burden i wasn’t ready to carry.
but i knew what i was doing
when i reached out both those times.

you might unravel some days,
and i won’t flinch.
i won’t fold.
i will gather the thread,
and hold it gently against my heart,
until you can breathe again.

you worry you’re broken,
but i’ve never asked for perfection.
i never needed easy.
i only wanted real.
and you,
in all your aching,
your effort,
your heart that still tries,
you are the most real thing i’ve ever had.

i don’t want someone simpler.
i don’t want someone “less.”
i just want you.

every tangled thought.
every quiet panic.
every soft smile that fights its way through the dark.

i didn’t stumble into this,
i chose you.
on purpose.
and i will choose you again
every time the world asks me to prove it.

i know now you’re the only one
i know now i’m the lonely one
i reached for you, but you’re out of reach
this lesson life is cruel to teach

i sang your name like a fragile song
believed in us, but i was wrong
you’ve moved ahead, yet i’m standing still
chasing shadows against my will

i know now love is a fleeting thing
a tether snapped, a severed string
i know now that the past is done
you’re not mine, and i’m no one’s one

i think about the version of us
that never broke.
the one where i stayed,
where i didn’t flinch at forever.

where you kissed me in april,
and we laughed about music,
and nothing hurt
unless it was from smiling too hard.

i love you,
i’m sorry.

if you ask me how i am,
i will repeat, reuse, recycle
the same phrase over and over,
slipping from my tongue
like it was the truth.

“i’m good.”
on occasion, “i’m tired.”
sometimes, “i’m happy.”
but never, “i’m sad.”

the lie is engraved, imprinted, etched,
so when someone asks,
“i’m good” comes easy—
because why would i be sad
if my life is perfect,
ideal, flawless?

but then i remember—
when you’re drowning,
it doesn’t matter if it’s ten feet or twenty.
the bottom line is,
you’re still drowning.

so maybe next time,
instead of “i’m good,”
i’ll tell the truth.
because when you’re drowning,
someone might save you.

im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past

i’m lonely
but i’m not alone.
there are people.
there is love.
but they don’t see
the place in me
that’s gone quiet.

i laugh
but i don’t feel lighter.
i sleep
but i don’t wake up whole.

i miss myself.
i think she left
in the middle of a sentence,
mid-song,
mid-smile.

and now i carry
someone who looks like me,
talks like me,
but doesn’t feel
like home.

i don’t want you
to worry.
i just want you
to stay.

i’ll say
i’m fine.
just don’t
go away.

at least sadness feels honest
when you know why it’s there—
a sharp ache, a clear wound,
a reason to repair.

but these indifferent tears,
falling without a name,
are heavier somehow,
and harder to explain.

she saved me once,
when the world was too heavy,
when the summer stretched too long,
and i was ready to end it all.
she pulled me back,
her hand steady, her words soft,
and i clung to her like a lifeline.

but lifelines fray,
and so did she.
with every lie,
every whispered knife in my back,
she unraveled what we had.
i forgave her—again and again—
because i thought love was stronger than pain.

yet now i see,
she has woven herself into my heart,
into the things that make me whole,
and cutting her free
feels like tearing pieces of myself away.

how do you save yourself
from someone who once saved you?
how do you walk away
from the place where love and hurt
are tangled so tightly
you can’t tell them apart?

still, i know:
this isn’t living.
and if i stay,
i may not live at all.

i think i’m like the sun.
you bask in me,
let me warm you,
fill you.
i light you up in ways
you didn’t know you needed.

and it feels good,
until it doesn’t.
until you wake up
burnt,
red,
empty.
betrayed by the very thing
you thought was saving you.

i never meant to hurt you.
i only meant to glow.
but maybe i don’t know
how to shine
without setting fire.

by answering messages
i shouldn’t
and hoping for things
i can’t have.

it’s march now,
and i’ve never been so hopeful,
hopeful that what i feel is just temporary.
i’m tired of waiting for the warmth,
tired of feeling like i’m stuck in this cold.
i want to feel something other than numb,
to not feel like i’m just drifting through days.
is it too much to ask for the weight to lift?
to feel alive again,
to stop pretending i’m okay?
maybe the sun will help,
maybe it won’t,
but i’m begging for something to change.

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.