At 11:22 p.m., I sit on your bed
and wet the covers with my tears while you sleep—
your tiredness, a weakness to my clingy heart.
I came here because I thought you needed me,
that you wanted me.
You needed rest.
I’m just your way of getting it.
I whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom,”while you closed your eyes.
You didn’t care.
You weren’t here.
So I closed the door slowly,
trying not to wake you
with the screams my shattered hands wrote on the sink.
And I just stood there.
There—between white tiles and a ***** mirror,
my face covered in traces of loneliness and pain.
I touched my body
and begged it to stop staring at me,
to stop judging me,
to stop calling me names.
It’s what it does
when I’m not enough
for the people I love.
You wouldn’t understand
if I ever explained it.
So I just go back to the bed,
try not to cry anymore,
and sleep as peacefully as you do—
even though peace
feels like a place
my body was never meant to reach.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 12:49 AM UTC
At 11:22 p.m., I sit on your bed
and wet the covers with my tears while you sleep—
your tiredness, a weakness to my clingy heart.
I came here because I thought you needed me,
that you wanted me.
You needed rest.
I’m just your way of getting it.
I whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom,”while you closed your eyes.
You didn’t care.
You weren’t here.
So I closed the door slowly,
trying not to wake you
with the screams my shattered hands wrote on the sink.
And I just stood there.
There—between white tiles and a ***** mirror,
my face covered in traces of loneliness and pain.
I touched my body
and begged it to stop staring at me,
to stop judging me,
to stop calling me names.
It’s what it does
when I’m not enough
for the people I love.
You wouldn’t understand
if I ever explained it.
So I just go back to the bed,
try not to cry anymore,
and sleep as peacefully as you do—
even though peace
feels like a place
my body was never meant to reach.
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