I’ve never been good at asking for what I need

when I do, I fight myself every step of the way

it doesn’t seem to come out right—
or maybe I just don’t say the right words

maybe I’m not being seen or heard

is there a misunderstanding,
or do I feel misunderstood?

I don’t know—
maybe it’s all in my head

what I do know is that I don’t have the energy
to fight to be seen

maybe I’m just being dramatic

maybe I feel rejected

I don’t know if that’s sensitivity, or if my feelings are actually valid

I feel a missed bid for connection

I feel as if I am giving more than I am receiving

at times, it feels as if there’s no reciprocity

I desire, want, and need
to not feel so alone with another human being

I don’t know if I’m being irrational with this,
or dismissive to myself

I have an intense want to avoid and withdraw

I don’t know if I’m just being sensitive

I just wanted ten minutes of time, and it seems as if there’s no time at all

I expect myself from others
and let myself down when I don’t receive that

maybe I have unrealistic expectations of others

maybe I am asking for too much

maybe I am just being sensitive.

The sun leaks in through glass and dust,
8 a.m., warm, golden, just—
enough to stir, but not to move.
My chest still bears a weight I prove
can pin me down through morning light,
then lull me back to lazy night.

I blink—and thunder shakes the frame,
rain drums the glass, it calls my name.
I reach again for glowing blue—
7 p.m. It can’t be true.

A whole day lost in linen seams,
swallowed by half-conscious dreams.
I whisper what I always say:
Tomorrow, I will not decay.

I wish I’d known that last goodbye
would echo like a final sigh.
Your eyes were quiet, voice unsure—
a silence I chose to ignore.

You didn’t flinch, you didn’t cry,
just turned and left beneath that sky.
If I had known, I’d have begged you to stay,
to steal a few more words that day.

No calls, no texts, not even views,
just empty screens and phantom news.
I hold my phone, then drop it fast—
what’s hope but shadows from the past?

They say move on, that time will heal,
but grief’s not something you can feel
and fix like glass that’s cracked in two.
I’d just have held on tighter—
if only I knew.

That goodbye was forever.

Sometimes,
My mind,
Decides,
To scare me.
Feeling,
Indifferent,
All-consuming,
Apathy.

I held the weight while others wept,
watched love choose someone else.
Buried dreams beside the dead—
and no one even noticed.

This is the one, I whisper low,
Ink on the page with a steady glow.
My pulse is sure, my spirit proud,
I post it up, above the crowd.
Done.

Two days pass in silent scroll,
A single like—a softened toll.
My thoughts return, both sharp and terse:
Maybe this was my best… or worst.

Again I write, the spark feels dim,
The words fall out, a clumsy hymn.
I roll my eyes, ashamed to send
A piece I’d never recommend.
Done.

Two days pass—my phone alights,
The piece is trending, shared in flights.
The one I thought was shallow, weak,
Spoke truths another couldn’t speak.

The weight is held in different ways,
Some see the sun, some feel the haze.
What’s “best” is tied to where we are,
Some feel the storm, some chase the star.

So now I write with open hands,
No more demands or strict commands.
Each piece, a gift I can’t control,
May miss one heart and reach a soul.

And when I post, I don’t deride—
The worth’s not always mine to decide.
For passion’s voice, though sometimes low,
Still finds a place it’s meant to go.

“I like you.”—but not enough.
Not enough to stay, to care,
To see the way I withered,
Piece by piece, beneath your weight.

You took what you needed,
A hand to hold, a heart to lean on,
And I gave until I was nothing,
Until even my shadow felt thin.

Now there’s nothing left to take.
No warmth, no light, no fight.
I have run dry, drained hollow—
I hope I was enough to quench your thirst.

I will draw
But there are no colours left to see.
I try to draw
But what is there for me?

I do not walk,
Yet still, I talk.
I try to speak,
But who will hear me when I’m weak?

I cry sometimes
But my face stays dry.
Tears fall inside my eyes,
But who replies?

I try to play,
But I’ve grown too tall
The toys I knew are far too small.
I play with walls
That never play at all.

I live,
But do I live a life?
I craft a lie
But who deserves my lie?