I try.
I show up.
I carry more than I should.
But when the people I’d break for
don’t even blink,
something in me goes quiet.
It’s a small kind of death
the kind where you’re still breathing
but you feel erased.
I’m not asking for praise.
Just to matter.
Just to be seen.
Funny how being unappreciated
can empty you out
faster than anything else.
And still,
here I am,
offering myself again,
hoping this time
someone notices the weight
I never complain about.
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 2:16 PM UTC
I try.
I show up.
I carry more than I should.
But when the people I’d break for
don’t even blink,
something in me goes quiet.
It’s a small kind of death
the kind where you’re still breathing
but you feel erased.
I’m not asking for praise.
Just to matter.
Just to be seen.
Funny how being unappreciated
can empty you out
faster than anything else.
And still,
here I am,
offering myself again,
hoping this time
someone notices the weight
I never complain about.
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