I’m sick in the heart,
not in a poetic way
in the way your throat tightens
for no clear reason,
in the way you stare at nothing
and feel too much.
I want to cry till I’m empty,
until my body gives up
on holding everything together,
until there’s nothing left to spill
but breath.
It hurts in places
I can’t point to.
It’s not one memory,
not one person
it’s the weight of all of it
stacked quietly inside me.
I keep going like I’m fine,
like this heaviness isn’t real,
like my heart isn’t tired
of being brave for so long.
I don’t want fixing.
I don’t want advice.
I just want to fall apart safely,
to let the tears do their job,
to leave me empty enough
to rest.
Because right now,
empty sounds like peace.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 1:44 PM UTC
I’m sick in the heart,
not in a poetic way
in the way your throat tightens
for no clear reason,
in the way you stare at nothing
and feel too much.
I want to cry till I’m empty,
until my body gives up
on holding everything together,
until there’s nothing left to spill
but breath.
It hurts in places
I can’t point to.
It’s not one memory,
not one person
it’s the weight of all of it
stacked quietly inside me.
I keep going like I’m fine,
like this heaviness isn’t real,
like my heart isn’t tired
of being brave for so long.
I don’t want fixing.
I don’t want advice.
I just want to fall apart safely,
to let the tears do their job,
to leave me empty enough
to rest.
Because right now,
empty sounds like peace.
