Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I built myself from gold medals, grades inked in red, checkmarks earned on every test that promised I’d be loved if I just did enough. I learned to move faster, to smile through sleepless nights, to do everything I could, even while my hands shook. Keep shining — always shining — even as something in me started to dim. I filled journals with formulas and deadlines, stacked my schedule so tight there was no room to breathe. Every success felt smaller, every mistake, unbearable. I am so tired, my fire gone. Every victory burned a little deeper, but I couldn’t stop. If I slowed down, if the cracks showed, I’d disappoint them — teachers, parents, peers — everyone who called me gifted. So I ran on, even as the weight inside me grew too heavy to bear. Now the grades are in, the trophies gather dust, and the silence echoes louder than any applause ever did. I stare at the pieces of myself, burned out, broken. And maybe, if I let myself rest, I’ll find that even when broken, I might be enough.
0
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
High-Achiev3r
I built myself from gold medals, grades inked in red, checkmarks earned on every test that promised I’d be loved if I just did enough. I learned to move faster, to smile through sleepless nights, to do everything I could, even while my hands shook. Keep shining — always shining — even as something in me started to dim. I filled journals with formulas and deadlines, stacked my schedule so tight there was no room to breathe. Every success felt smaller, every mistake, unbearable. I am so tired, my fire gone. Every victory burned a little deeper, but I couldn’t stop. If I slowed down, if the cracks showed, I’d disappoint them — teachers, parents, peers — everyone who called me gifted. So I ran on, even as the weight inside me grew too heavy to bear. Now the grades are in, the trophies gather dust, and the silence echoes louder than any applause ever did. I stare at the pieces of myself, burned out, broken. And maybe, if I let myself rest, I’ll find that even when broken, I might be enough.
When being "gifted" becomes something you have to survive. (Based on the type 3 Enneagram)
firebirdie
Written by
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem