Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The days don’t rise or fall. They sit. Heavy. Like air that’s forgotten how to move. I wake already late to myself, bones filled with ideas of staying still. The mirror offers a version of me that looks completed, as if nothing more is required and nothing less would be noticed. Time keeps going without resistance. Meals happen because they must. Words leave my mouth on schedule, measured, appropriate, never enough to trouble anyone with the weight behind them. There is a dull arithmetic to being alive, what I take up, what I return, how easily the sum would reach zero without causing imbalance. Even sadness feels inefficient, a low hum instead of a cry. I don’t want to disappear loudly. I just want to reduce myself until the world doesn’t have to adjust. Somewhere between breath and thought the idea settles: that I am superfluous, an extra margin left wide after the text is finished. So I remain small. I pass through rooms carefully. Not hoping to be missed, only hoping that staying doesn’t count as taking too much.
0
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:46 AM UTC
Superfluous
The days don’t rise or fall. They sit. Heavy. Like air that’s forgotten how to move. I wake already late to myself, bones filled with ideas of staying still. The mirror offers a version of me that looks completed, as if nothing more is required and nothing less would be noticed. Time keeps going without resistance. Meals happen because they must. Words leave my mouth on schedule, measured, appropriate, never enough to trouble anyone with the weight behind them. There is a dull arithmetic to being alive, what I take up, what I return, how easily the sum would reach zero without causing imbalance. Even sadness feels inefficient, a low hum instead of a cry. I don’t want to disappear loudly. I just want to reduce myself until the world doesn’t have to adjust. Somewhere between breath and thought the idea settles: that I am superfluous, an extra margin left wide after the text is finished. So I remain small. I pass through rooms carefully. Not hoping to be missed, only hoping that staying doesn’t count as taking too much.
WiltedEverly
Written by
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:46 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem