I stand by the door, never called in,
the silence cuts deeper than skin.
Laughter inside, but I’m not allowed,
alone in the cold, apart from the crowd.
Rejection bites sharp, sadness takes hold,
numbness creeps in, its touch is so cold.
These moments remind me, again and again,
I don’t have true friends—I’ve learned that by then.
If I could speak to the child I was then,
I’d whisper the truth with paper and pen:
“Save yourself now, don’t wait for their call,
walk away early—it will hurt less to fall.”
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 1:56 PM UTC
I stand by the door, never called in,
the silence cuts deeper than skin.
Laughter inside, but I’m not allowed,
alone in the cold, apart from the crowd.
Rejection bites sharp, sadness takes hold,
numbness creeps in, its touch is so cold.
These moments remind me, again and again,
I don’t have true friends—I’ve learned that by then.
If I could speak to the child I was then,
I’d whisper the truth with paper and pen:
“Save yourself now, don’t wait for their call,
walk away early—it will hurt less to fall.”
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