the silence in the senate is
heavier than the noise in the house, đźĄ.
up here, the stakes are settled,
the ballots are cast, and i’m left
watching the clock.
it’s a strange vantage point—
knowing you’re fighting for your life
in a room where the air is already stale.
you’re down there trying to qualify
while the very person you’re standing with is
the reason the room is laughing behind your back.
you’re debating for a seat you might win,
but you’re losing the floor
every time you check your phone.
meanwhile, 🏆 is sitting three desks away,
and the "solvency" we both earned feels
like a hollow trophy.
i see the way he leans into his legal pad—
not to flow a round, but to keep himself from tipping over.
i see the cracks in his armor.
there's a frequency 🏆's vibrating on that
no one else in this chamber can hear.
i see the mental health crisis he’s labeling as "fatigue,"
and because i’m a girl who stays true to the flow,
i have to say something.
i’m looking at his hands.
they aren't "sticky" with someone else's sugar;
they’re just shaking when the timer isn’t even running.
it’s the ultimate irony of the 80-week math.
i’ve been waiting for you to be the crusader,
and now i’m the one who has to stand up
and see the boy who’s falling apart.
not because i want his heart on a ballot,
but because i’m a girl who finishes the round,
and the round isn't over until everyone is accounted for.
And in my chamber, we look out for each other.
i’m going to say something to him.
i’m going to break the clinical silence of the senate
because my integrity isn't a tactic—
it’s the only gavel i have left.
i’ll be the one to ask the question
no one else is brave enough to label,
while you’re down in the house,
too busy defending a "maybe" to notice
that the girl you first believed in
has already moved on to a higher chamber.
if this is your last shot, đźĄ, make it count.
if you want to win the house, win it.
you should.
but don’t look up at the senate and expect
to see a girl waiting with a consolation prize.
i’m not a "safety school" for
when the house adjourns and you realize
the cookie was never worth the hunger.
i’m the girl who qualified.
i’m the girl who sees the truth
you’re too scared to voice.
i’m busy being the person you were
on November 2nd—the one who
knows how to hold the door open
for someone who’s lost their way.
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:03 PM UTC
the silence in the senate is
heavier than the noise in the house, đźĄ.
up here, the stakes are settled,
the ballots are cast, and i’m left
watching the clock.
it’s a strange vantage point—
knowing you’re fighting for your life
in a room where the air is already stale.
you’re down there trying to qualify
while the very person you’re standing with is
the reason the room is laughing behind your back.
you’re debating for a seat you might win,
but you’re losing the floor
every time you check your phone.
meanwhile, 🏆 is sitting three desks away,
and the "solvency" we both earned feels
like a hollow trophy.
i see the way he leans into his legal pad—
not to flow a round, but to keep himself from tipping over.
i see the cracks in his armor.
there's a frequency 🏆's vibrating on that
no one else in this chamber can hear.
i see the mental health crisis he’s labeling as "fatigue,"
and because i’m a girl who stays true to the flow,
i have to say something.
i’m looking at his hands.
they aren't "sticky" with someone else's sugar;
they’re just shaking when the timer isn’t even running.
it’s the ultimate irony of the 80-week math.
i’ve been waiting for you to be the crusader,
and now i’m the one who has to stand up
and see the boy who’s falling apart.
not because i want his heart on a ballot,
but because i’m a girl who finishes the round,
and the round isn't over until everyone is accounted for.
And in my chamber, we look out for each other.
i’m going to say something to him.
i’m going to break the clinical silence of the senate
because my integrity isn't a tactic—
it’s the only gavel i have left.
i’ll be the one to ask the question
no one else is brave enough to label,
while you’re down in the house,
too busy defending a "maybe" to notice
that the girl you first believed in
has already moved on to a higher chamber.
if this is your last shot, đźĄ, make it count.
if you want to win the house, win it.
you should.
but don’t look up at the senate and expect
to see a girl waiting with a consolation prize.
i’m not a "safety school" for
when the house adjourns and you realize
the cookie was never worth the hunger.
i’m the girl who qualified.
i’m the girl who sees the truth
you’re too scared to voice.
i’m busy being the person you were
on November 2nd—the one who
knows how to hold the door open
for someone who’s lost their way.
