I haven’t written for so long,
I guess too many things are wrong.

There’s a voice telling me to quit,
and one repeating I’d hate myself if I did.

I’m a failure. I failed. Then I failed again,
It’s driving me crazy. I’m insane.

That exam, the mark I haven’t yet seen,
It doesn’t matter—I’m just fourteen.

IF I am a failure, and let everyone down,
My friends will still live in this town.

Kids on playgrounds will still laugh,
They won’t realise ALL of this is tough.

And I will still turn fifteen then sixteen,
No matter how I am being seen.

Perceived by the little girl in me,
By all the things I can never be.

I’ll still walk past mirrors and see the scars,
Still look at the sky in hope I find stars.

So I can be a failure and not give up,
And therefore I award myself a gold cup.

I can feel my sadness from within,
Because I never ever ever win.

That doesn’t mean I’m a failure tho,
I hope my thoughts don’t show.

I wear noise cancelling headphones,
Just to hear the voice in my bones.

But it isn’t real—This voice is a ghost,
It can’t tell me what I value most.

I used to hate ghosts—I was scared,
Is that why me and my ghost got paired?

Now could I have, my dear—
Become the thing you used to fear?

Eyes blur over words,
tasks pile like silent judgments-
why can't I keep up?

Every day I try,
but the mountain has never moved.
why can't I be stronger?

Reports inked in red bleed,
proof of how I've let them down-
and myself again.

Tired to the bone,
even rest won't hold me now.
I'm just...drifting off.

Same roads, same old steps-
life loops in gray repetition.
I forget to breathe.

School, then noise, then more-
life stacks struggle like heavy books.
No one but me seems to bend.

I get home and sit,
just to feel the ache settle.
Crying is my break.

Behind my closed door,
the world finally lets go.
Here, I'm just...myself.

No masks in this space-
just the quiet hum of me,
and the weight I shed.

Everything seems to hurt at once-
to falter beneath my feet.
I want stable ground.

Not all pain is loud.
Not all struggle leaves a mark.
Some of us wander astray.
not broken beyond repair,
just worn down.

Some wounds wear no scars-
they bloom silently, deep inside.
where no eyes can reach.

Erosion taking time-
silent, steady, unnoticed,
gradually-things vanish.
And I often feel myself fading,
in the smallest, softest ways.

These words, these lines,
are not cries for rescue,
but quiet pleas to breathe.

I know i'm not broken,
simply a person-
someone who's learning
how to exist under the pressure,
even if I don't have the answers yet.

I am more than these battles,
more than the crimson ink scars on paper.
I am the silence between the words,
the moments when I let myself just be.

Maybe one day,
I'll find the strength,
to grow into myself,
to let the world see-

How much I've carried,
how far I've come,
even when it felt like I was barely moving.