I apologize too much.
I never think I do enough.
I always go beyond and above,
Still I’m too fragile to be loved.

I’m so scared of the truth,
Yet nothing else will ever do.
Happiness has been the goal,
But I fear forever feeling hollow.

You and I deserve the best of me.
But who am I—why can't I see?

I don't know how to say no.
People say, "stop," I still go.
Always there, always giving—
Yet alone when I need forgiving.

I'd climb a mountain, cross a sea.
I'd burn myself out just to meet a need.
But I've already lowered the bar—
It drags behind me like a scar.

The world is loud. The vision’s getting hazy.
Please help me now... I feel crazy.

So many faces—
Which is mine?
Each stitched with guilt,
A need to stay in line.

What if saying "no" could feel like peace?
What if I took a space just to breathe?
Would you hold me when I come undone?
Remind me I don't always have to run?

I'm worn, but still reaching.
I'm bruised, but still believing.
I don't need much, just to be seen—
Not as a mirror,
But a human being.

It starts like static-
a flicker in the dark,
a shift in the air
before the collapse.

I'm washing dishes.
I'm crossing a street.
I'm laughing-
and then I'm not.

Something small tilts the world.
My chest tightens,
my skin doesn't feel like mine,
and the moment swallows me whole.

I hate how they still live in me-
their voices in the corners,
their hands on the memories
I never wanted to keep.

The anger simmers
under every surface.
For what they did,
for what they didn't,
for how they shaped me
without permission.

I trace the outlines of what could’ve been-
a word spoken,
a door opened,
a version of me
they never got to break.

But the past is a house
that locks from the inside.
I scream through the keyhole
and call it healing.

Some days I am a person.
Some days I am a symptom.
I carry both
without dropping either.

I live with tremors.
I move through fog.
I smile like nothing cracked,
and shake
when no one is looking.

And still-
somehow-
I stay.
I breathe.
I come back
to myself.

Again.

It doesn't ask.
It never knocks.
It just shows up-
mid-sentence,
mid-step,
mid-me.

My body remembers
things I don't want to.
Fluorescent lights,
locked doors,
her voice like venom,
his hands,
the smoke thick enough
to erase a home.

I'm split between moments.
One version of me
is pouring coffee.
The other is back
in a room I begged to leave,
screaming behind my eyes
while my face stays still.

And people say
"but you're safe now."
Like my nervous system
understands logic.
Like my skin
doesn't still flinch at kindness,
like safety is a thing
I've ever known for sure.

I carry too many names.
******. Liar. *****. Crazy.
He. She. It.
I carry too many versions of myself
that other people made
without asking.

And I'm so ******* angry.
At her.
At them.
At the system that locked me up
when all I needed
was to be held without harm.
At the fact that I'm still here
trying to make something soft
out of what they left jagged.

Sometimes I wish
I could go back-
whisper to the kid
who hid under blankets
trying to disappear.
Tell him: you were right.
Tell them: it wasn't your fault.
Tell me
I'd get out.

And I did.
But sometimes,
parts of me still don't know that.
They shake,
they shut down,
they show up uninvited.

And I breathe,
even when it burns.
And I stay,
even when I want to run.
And I write,
because it's the one place
I get to be the one
telling the story.

Red.
It’s not pretty on me.
Not lipstick.
Not Valentines hearts.
Not cute red sweaters or “you’re so strong compliments.”

My red is the kind that stains.
That sticks.
That screams when I try to whisper.
Red is the colour of being left.
Not once.
But over and over and over.

My mum?
Yeah, my bio mum.
She left like I was a book she stopped
reading halfway through.
But she still sends postcards.
Like that makes it better.
Like writing, “Love, Mum” at the end
wipes away the years that she wasn’t there
to love me at all.

Do you know what it feels like
to get a message from a ghost
trying to pretend she’s still real?

I don’t read them anymore.
I just stare at the handwriting and
feel nothing.
Or maybe too much.
I can’t tell the difference anymore.

Red is the rage I swallow
because screaming makes people
uncomfortable.
Because no one wants to hear
about the kid sent to boarding school at 11
like an inconvenience.
Shipped off.
Silenced.
Discarded.

Dad didn’t even fight.
Just handed me over
to a woman who never saw me as hers
and made sure I knew it.

Red is the silence between us now.
And it’s loud.
So loud it drowns out the sound of me breaking.

But the worst red?
The darkest?

Wasn’t just what they did.
It was what they took.
Two men.
People I trusted.
People who smiled at me like I mattered
before they ruined me.

I said no.
I said stop.
But they didn’t hear me—
because they weren’t listening.
They were taking.

And one of them carved a word
into my skin.
A word I won’t repeat.
Because it’s still there.
Because when I shower, I still trace it.
Like it might come off this time.
It never does.

Red is that word.
That memory.
That version of me
that I don’t know how to bring back.
Sometimes I look in the mirror
and all I see is what they left behind.

I’m still here.
Yeah.
Breathing.
Just barely.

But I think about giving it all up.
More than I say out loud.
More than anyone would guess
by the way I smile in hallways
and laugh when I’m dying inside.

Red is the part of me that wants to vanish.
That writes poems
because if I don’t put it on the page,
I might not survive the weight.

Red is major depression.  
C-PTSD.
It’s waking me up and wondering why.
Why me.
Why still.
Why now.

It’s wanting someone to hold me and mean it.
Wanting my mum to show up
in something more than postage stamps and pretend love.
Wanting my dad to say,
“I was wrong. I should’ve kept you close.”
But knowing they won’t.
Knowing they didn’t.

Red is the truth no one wants to hear.
The pain they skip over in movies.
The girl in the back of the class
with scars on her heart and skin
who’s just trying to get through the day
without breaking apart in front of everyone.

Red is me.
All of me.
Hurting.
But still breathing.
Still here.

Not because I'm strong.
Not because I want to be.
But because even though everything in me says give up,
some tiny voice
buried under the rubble
still whispers:
Wait.

Does anyone actually care?
Or do they just act like it
Im sorry to those i hurt
Im trying my best
Im sorry my love
Sorry that i hurt you
I didn't mean to
Does anyone actually see how i am
"you can rely on me. You rely on people to much."
Im sorry im not the perfect girl you want me to be
I just cant rely on you
I just need to survive
Thats all
Nothing else
Its fine
Im fine
Dont worry

that feeling.
you know the one.
all emotion is drained of your body and all worth is ****** away.
When you're so numb you can't be real, yet you feel every little thing that grazes your skin.
you feel tired, yet so overwhelmed and awake
and it hurts.
you cant escape
and it hurts.
that feeling of overwhelming upsetting forgetting and regretting.
your mind isnt your own, yet your body is undeniably so.
you cant even decode your own thoughts, for the mess they spew out is only to be just that, a mess.
your words come out as delirium, your heart racing and genuinely not functioning
everything
everywhere all at once.
like you have no mouth, yet must scream
have no control
incessantly and unequivocally continuous
that visceral, inexplicable feeling remaining, restraining
not just disorder, complete discord, chaos, absolute anarchy
inside the mind
and again this body remained still.

you couldn't possibly imagine could you?
of course not.

I came across
A stray
Snarling dog
About 6 years ago
While I was living in an abusive home
Matted and scared

It was battered and bruised
And so was I

I fed the dog everything I would catch
Gave it my trust
And my loyalty
While it was visiting other people
Still coming running to me
As if it were starving

A month later I left my home
Finally out but now on my own
And nowhere to go
I left the ravaging beast
That owned me
Moved into the snarling dogs den
Where it kept me isolated
And used
Never free to express myself for fear of its bark
But the dog never bit so I forgave it
For it was bruised and hurt
So I tended to its wounds
As I licked them clean

Seven months later I learned the dog was being fed by other people
All of my hunting was for nothing
I didn't hurt the dog
Just hissed and yowled and scratched myself
Because the dog didn't deserve that
It was just hungry
You can't help hunger
So I moved us somwhere where the yards had fences so that the dog couldn't feed from others

Two more months later the dog had dug a hole under them
I found it and broke down again
All while filling the hole in with all the strength I could find in my small paws

The dog learned how to jump the fence
So I moved us somewhere where they were taller
And finally he was my dog
Even tho he still hungered for food from others
But my loyalty no longer lied with him
So I'd leave the dog alone in it's den
Well fed while I'd go out to hunt for others

After awhile I forgave his hunger
And gave in to those puppy dog eyes
Gave him my loyalty once more
Stayed in the den
But then a wolf moved in
And drove me out

I moved into a house again but was still loyal to the dog
To it's den
Until the dog snarled and barked
Until I was scared away from my loyalty
As it drove me away

The dog would now just roam my home
And visit here and there
Presenting itself as my therapy
As it wrapped is body around me
And let me use its fur for warmth
Being at my service
Grooming my fur
Leaving it clean
Trimming my claws
Leaving them cared for
My dog

Years later the dog still barked
Snarled
Growled
But it still never bit
So I always forgave it
I gave it my loyalty again
I let the dog into my home for a few days at a time
Before it went back to it's den

I lost my memory
No longer knew the dog
But the dog said I was loyal to him
And he was loyal
My dog
But then I found out that the dog had another home that he'd visit
My dog wasn't my dog
So I tried to leave it all
Because nothing is mine
Nothing is for me

The dog came crawling back
Whimpering and howling
Giving me its puppy dog eyes
So I let it be at my service again
Let it be my therapy dog again
The dog cleaned my fur
Trimmed my claws

Time flies by and the dog starts snarling
Growling
Teeth bared
Back arched
Everytime I'm sad or hurt
It can't be my therapy dog anymore
But I still beg it for comfort
I still try to nuzzle up to its fur
Hoping I can calm the anger within its body
With mine

But I am no longer this dogs cat
I am no longer loyal
And I don't care for its loyalty
I only care that it doesn't prey on another
So I obsess over keeping that dog mine
Keeping it away from another stray

I prowl around trying to find other homes
Until I do find one
This home is nice
But I only visit him sometimes
Wary of being his pet

The dog grows distant
Hiding away in the dark corners of our home
The dog is no longer there for me
Emotionally or physically
It doesn't curl itself around me or groom my fur
It doesn't lick my head when it's lowered
Or trim my claws when they grow too long
It only snarles
Barks
Bares its teeth
And finally it

BITES

The dog bit me
But the bite didn't draw blood
So I hiss and I swat
I curl up in a corner
And I keep the site of the bite away from my potential new owner
But that owner didn't want me
I'm not the right cat
I'm not the right temperament or personality that he was looking for so he closes his doors

I let the dog come back into our home
It must've been an accident
Because the wound
Didn't
Draw
Blood

One of my old owners comes back
The dog is still distant
Still snarling
And growling
So I hiss
And yowl back

The dog begins to calm back down
But it is still not my dog
I don't want it to be my dog
My previous owner only wants a cat and not a dog
And I'd like to be his pet again
So I need to leave the dog back in the den

The dog still cares for me
But only physically
All is well
And visiting my old owners home
Has me happy

But then
The dog
Bites me
Draws blood
Leaves a gaping wound
In my beautiful fur coat
My fur was stained red
And I was bleeding out dead
So I dragged myself to my old owners home
And he opened the door for me

The dog still wants me back
He couldn't fulfill his hunger
So he took his fill
Right out of me
Yet he still hungers further
Still howls and whimpers
Still tries to fool me with his puppy dog eyes
But I can now see through the lies
And everytime I look down I still see the wound that was left
In my beautiful fur coat
I can't get that wound clean
So I make sure that the dog cannot get to me