I think I’m broken beyond repair.
Not in pieces you can pick up
but in the quiet places no one sees.

They say healing takes time,
but what if time has already passed me by?
What if the cracks run too deep,
the damage too permanent,
the light too far gone?

I try.
God knows, I try.
To stand, to smile,
to hold together what keeps slipping through.
Like shattered glass
held by nothing
but will.

They look at me
like I’m supposed to be whole by now.
Fixed.
Better.
But they don’t understand
this isn’t pain.
This is ruin.
And you can’t glue something
that’s been broken this many times.

I’m tired.
Of surviving.
Of pretending.
Of being the one left behind
while others step into forever.

I wish I knew when it would be my turn.
But I don’t.
And I don’t know how to live
as someone I no longer recognize.

Still,
somehow,
I’m here.
Not healed.
But here.