What is it to be human?

To love, to care, to hope, to see.

To feel, to appreciate, to simply be.

To live is to long, to give, to believe,
To yearn for the warmth we hope to receive.

To be human is to be loved,

To be seen, cherished, and thought of.

To be missed when absent, wished for in heart,
Yet here I stand, forever torn apart.

A part of me missing, a piece left behind,

A hollow ache no love seems to find.

I give and I give, but nothing returns,

Only questions and heartache, and endless burns.

"I love you"—was it ever true?

Why am I the one so easy to fool?

So hard to love, so hard to stay,
Why am I always cast away?

It hurts, this truth I can’t outrun,

Knowing I will never be someone’s someone.

I wonder, do they see the cracks I hide?
The broken pieces I guard inside?
Am I too much, or not enough,

For a world that feels so sharp, so rough?

My voice grows quiet, my hope turns thin,
As I watch the world, wishing to fit in.
The love I crave seems far from reach,

An ocean too vast, a shore I can’t breach.

What is it to be human, to dream in vain,
To hold on to hope, yet cradle the pain?

To give your heart and be left to grieve,

To wonder if love is something to believe?

Still, the questions echo, sharp and clear,
Why am I so hard to hold near?

Why do I give, yet stand so alone,

Searching for a place to call my own?

Perhaps to be human is to feel this strife,
To wander the edges of love and life.

But oh, how it aches, this lonely fight,

To long for someone, in the dark of night.