It started in our twenties.
She doesn’t have a care in the world,
and I’m already breaking myself
trying to love you right.
She’s making you mixed CDs,
eating the dinner I made,
wearing that stupid smile
that tells me she thinks she’s won.
You’re leaving her cryptic love notes
on social media
while I sit alone
in the house we built.
You’re out with our friends.
You’re erasing me,
and I’m watching myself fade
in real time.
I’m holding everything together
as you pull it apart.
I throw up every time I picture her hands on you.
I dig my nails into my palms
while you shoot tequila like none of this matters.
I pray the rest of my twenties
will be kinder than this.
But it feels like I’m breathing in the dirt
you bury me with.
Our friends toast the version of me
I can’t be anymore
She’s holding your hand.
She knows about your hidden scar.
I realize she’s already living
in the space I used to fill.
And finally, I collapse—
from what my twenties were supposed to be,
from who you were supposed to be,
from the weight I carried alone,
from not being enough,
from heartbreak,
from growing up.
Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
It started in our twenties.
She doesn’t have a care in the world,
and I’m already breaking myself
trying to love you right.
She’s making you mixed CDs,
eating the dinner I made,
wearing that stupid smile
that tells me she thinks she’s won.
You’re leaving her cryptic love notes
on social media
while I sit alone
in the house we built.
You’re out with our friends.
You’re erasing me,
and I’m watching myself fade
in real time.
I’m holding everything together
as you pull it apart.
I throw up every time I picture her hands on you.
I dig my nails into my palms
while you shoot tequila like none of this matters.
I pray the rest of my twenties
will be kinder than this.
But it feels like I’m breathing in the dirt
you bury me with.
Our friends toast the version of me
I can’t be anymore
She’s holding your hand.
She knows about your hidden scar.
I realize she’s already living
in the space I used to fill.
And finally, I collapse—
from what my twenties were supposed to be,
from who you were supposed to be,
from the weight I carried alone,
from not being enough,
from heartbreak,
from growing up.
Request permission to use this poem