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 told you i’d let you in,
but i didn’t.
just smiled through the ache
and made you believe
i was okay.

i said i wouldn’t do it again,
but i did.
soft and slow,
like a secret
i already knew how to keep.

i told myself i’d stop,
but i haven’t.
not really.
not even close.

i break promises.
not out of spite,
just out of habit,
or maybe survival.

you say you love me anyway.
but god,
how long can that last?

i can feel the pain in my chest.
it’s sitting heavy on my lungs.
it hurts to breathe.

i can feel the pain in my head.
i think it’s that pounding i feel,
the unrelenting pressure.

i can feel the pain in my heart.
it’s splitting into pieces.
not enough glue to put it back together.

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 don’t know
i don’t know
why i feel this
why it won’t stop
why i can’t fix it
why it is me
i don’t know
all i know is i don’t know

i wish you meant it when you say you love me.
i know you think you do,
but you don’t.
because if you loved me,
you wouldn’t be leaving without saying goodnight.
i know you’re not asleep
because you always fall asleep early when i’m upset.
i get it.
i’m too much.
i’m only good
when i’m telling you how much i love you.

if you loved me
you would’ve said
“stop rereading your old poems,
they only hurt you.”
you would’ve said
“baby i love you
and i wish you didn’t feel like you have to cut yourself.”
and you’d mean it.
when i tell you that i want to anyway,
you’d say
“don’t.
but if you do, be safe.”
and i wouldn’t.
because you love me.
but you don’t.

if you loved me,
i’d feel it even when i’m sad.
even when you’re speechless.
and even when you’re upset with me
for being upset.
but i didn’t.
i felt like
i ruined everything.
and i felt like
you didn’t love me.
please come back to me.

right
okay

the room bent at the corners,
walls breathing in and out.
everyone i loved was there,
but their faces flickered,
like static on a broken screen.

i held a glass cup.
it pulsed in my hand,
warm, alive.
i knew if i moved even slightly,
it would split open.

and it did.
not shattering,
but unfolding,
splinters sliding into my skin
like they belonged there.

i tried to cry out,
but my voice came out in glass,
sharp shards that cut the air
before falling at my feet.

i whispered,
“i don’t know what i did,”
“this really hurts,”
but they only smiled,
eyes blank as mirrors.

their mouths opened wide
and spoke in one voice:
“we don’t see what you see.”

and for a moment
i saw him in the corner,
the one i still love
even though love has gone sour.
he didn’t speak,
just watched me bleed,
his silence heavier
than any shard in my skin.

then i looked again,
and my hands were gone.
only blood and light
spilled from where they should’ve been.

and in the glow of it,
everyone raised their cups,
whole, gleaming,
as if nothing had ever broken.

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.

i’m sorry i’m sad again, baby.
i know it can get heavy,
loving someone who can’t
hold themself together.

i wish i could be softer for you,
happier for you,
all sunshine and laughter.
but some days,
i’m just a storm
trying not to touch you.

i’m tired of apologizing
for the way my heart works,
but i still do,
because i never want you to think
this sadness means i love you any less.
i’m sorry,
sad,
and yours.

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.

no matter what i earn,
the voice inside insists
i don’t deserve it.

i hold the pit book in my hands,
but it feels borrowed,
like it belongs to someone
better, brighter,
not me.

he’s always there,
ahead by a step,
without trying.
districts. jazz. first chair.
i don’t need him to say it.
he makes sure i already know.
despite everything i’ve achieved,
he believes he’ll always be better.

i tell myself it isn’t about him,
but the truth is
i don’t believe
i will ever measure up,
to him,
to anyone,
to myself.
i will always be inferior.

someone told me that
you and i posted
the same song
on our instagram note.
i didn’t know,
i unfollowed you.
it was sort of funny,
but i was the one
who showed you that song.
that song is mine.
but fine,
we can share it if we must.

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 have never,
and will never,
love someone the way i love you.

and i still love you,
of course i do.
it’s only been a week.

you’ve consumed my thoughts,
woven yourself into my dreams,
trampled over every piece of progress.

you told me you loved me.
i believed you.
you did too.
was it ever true?

your new girl seems lovely,
kind, understanding,
everything i’ll never be.

but sean,
it’s only been a week.
a week.
it’s only been a week.

i must be easy to get over.
a few days for you,
an eternity for me.
i’m one week into forever.

don’t ask for warmth from me now.
i’m cold, broken,
drowning beneath
while you float above.

you think i left again,
that i never meant what i said.
but we wouldn’t be here
if you hadn’t done those things,
your freshman year, my sophomore.

sean.
it’s only been a week.

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.

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

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.