My stomach does that thing—
you know, when the ghost
rests a hand there.
Not a hit.
Just a hush,
and fingernails.

Like it never left.
Like I’m the one
who forgot to feed it.

It’s always at dawn.
Or mid-laugh.
Or in line at the dollar store—
buying nail polish I’ll chew off by Tuesday
and an eyelash curler,
just in case he sees me
from across a decade.

Then you paraglide in—
a salesman who knew I’d be home.
And the floor remembers
what I worked so hard to forget.

And I gasp—like I tripped.
But I didn’t.
I remembered.

I remembered
the ghost
you left me to raise alone.

Like:
“Hi. Just passing through.
Don’t stress on my behalf.”

I nod.
And I don’t.
I keep chewing the same nail.
My eyelashes are curled.
My stomach still does that thing.

You know the one.

I had a dream, I wonder why,
It was you, yes you,
Though veiled in fog, I knew, it was you,
Felt real, felt warm, felt love, because it was you.

Hmmmm, you were humming, made me sleepy,
Your aroma made me feel at home,
The green jacket suits you, your smile suits you,
You came closer to me, and yes, it was you.

I heard you say my name, the nickname,
You looked me in the eyes, I wonder why I cried,
I wanted to hug you, but I couldn't,
It was a dream, but I'm sure it was you.

It's a song, sung for you.

I yearn for the freedom of a bird, soaring high above the mundane,
Yearning to break free from the constraints of the grounded world.
When did the spark of imagination flicker and die?
Leaving behind a monotonous existence?

I long for the carefree days of carnival rides and cotton candy,
The thrill of the wind stealing my breath as the roller coaster swoops down the track.
I remember the awe-inspiring spectacle of fireworks,
Not the passive indifference that once filled me,
But the vibrant colors that danced in the sky,
Not muted and mildly annoying.

I crave the excitement of skipping school,
Feeling the rebellious spirit coursing through my veins as I run up and down the halls,
Instead of the tiptoeing and begging that now characterize my days.
I yearn to experience the fluttering of butterflies,
The nervousness of a first kiss,
And the pit of my throat clenching with the fear of asking a crush out.

Where did that innocent anxiety disappear?
When did imagination succumb to monotony?

I miss the simple, crude drawings I used to create world-building,
The comics of my own design and mind,
Characters rich with backstories and lives of their own.
Now, I struggle to put pen to paper,
I wonder if my words ever truly resonate.

Do they understand me?
Was I ever truly understood?
How I wish I could start over, grow in a way that doesn’t **** my garden,
But there’s no rewind.
I could wish on every four-leaf clover, but that’s not enough.

As I watch them fly overhead,
I can’t help but feel a sense of envy and longing.
I yearn to be them, carefree and clinging to the freedom that seems to elude me.
The air rustling through their feathers,
Taking me away into the ether is a tantalizing reminder of what I could’ve had.

My world has turned grey,
My soul is crying,
My heart is irreparably broken,
I thought you could be my cure,
A ray of sunshine
To light up my days.
I am sorry.
I know I need to let go,
And someday I will be able to.
You were something
You are not anymore,
While I’m the same as always
Pretending the past is still present.
My words are flat,
A decomposed body,
I lost the right way,
If I ever found it in the first place.
How to recognize
When you go from a prodigy
To a wilted flower?
I had always been invisible,
But banal?
A curse, sent by my
Worst enemy,
This is the only solution.
I lost my flame,
My lighthouse,
I feel like I lost you,
But you didn’t lose me.
Please, come back.

I was supposed to be somewhere holy by now.
Twenty-eight, maybe.
Soft-eyed, loose-shouldered,
eating cherries on a porch that faces west,
“I trust the sky not to drop me.”
“I haven’t wished on a coin in months.”
Instead, I’m awake at 3:47 a.m.
Googling “What does it mean to feel inside-out?”

I keep finding pieces of myself
in weird places—
a sandal from eighth grade
in my mom’s basement—
a song I skipped for years
until it wrecked me—
now it’s the only sound I can breathe to.
A fourth grade diary entry
that ends with:
“I think something’s wrong with the air.”

I think something’s wrong with the air.

I was so sure by now I’d
quit making altars out of absence,
retire from bleeding for the line break,
know how to hold still when people love me.

I thought I’d hear God more clearly
and panic less when I don’t.
I thought I’d be done
being undone
by
a read receipt.

/ Then the break. /

And yet.

I flinch at compliments
like they’re coming from behind me.

Sometimes I still check
if my name’s spelled right on things.
I still rehearse
what I’ll say in case I’m asked,
“So, what do you do?”

(I become.
I break and unbreak.
I drink soda in bed and call that healing.
I make it to morning and call that enough.)
I keep living like the soft things won’t leave.

There’s a version of me
who doesn’t bend into a wishbone
for every boy with a god complex—
and a version
who flosses because she thinks she’ll live
long enough
for it to matter.

There’s a version who never had to explain
the scars on her thigh.
A version who didn’t stay
just to see how bad it could get.

I keep dreaming of her.
Not to compete—
just to confess.
Not to ask forgiveness—
to give it.

She sleeps through the night and means it.
She makes plans and keeps them.
She doesn’t exist.

So I just keep writing toward something
I’m not sure I’ll survive.
There’s a version of me
who didn’t touch the red button.
Didn’t ask.
Didn’t hope.
Didn’t write any of this down.

You’re not here,
Sitting on the bed with me,
Taking your hit and yapping.

But the air still hums,
Like you just left.
And i’m laughing again,
Complaining about something,
You made a joke.

And I have a reassurance in the back of my mind,
Saying,
“You're safe with this, its forever”
But it isn’t.
It feels like it will never change,

But it does,
Having to leave,
And no one told the air,
To forget about you.

I see your dazzling light from far away.
Yet to think on it leaves a mark, a cut, a bruise.
And now I’m covered in those kinds of scars.

I sit here and ponder what could've been mine,
If I did something different.
If I’d said the right thing,
Spun the right lie.
Would you have held me then?

The sound of your laughs drifts through the days,
And chases me down, and takes me screaming into the night.
Where the wolves are waiting.

The only chance worth taking,
Is the one that leads me straight to you

To hear it straight up,
Your plans for your life,
The hollow room where your feelings should be,
They scream with a silence that's louder than words.
The wails of the nonexistent noise.

Your warmth pins me down and holds me tight
It strangles and suffocates,
My feelings won't drown
In the waves of your truth
In the waves of my pain.

The truth of your feelings,
The truth of your hollow ballroom that you hold me locked up in chains,
That dig into my wrist and impales me with spikes,
The days bleed into further longing,
And all I want to do is turn to you,
Fall into your embrace no matter hold much it hurts
For the jacket of outward spikes,
That you wear just for me.

Specially designed torture devices,
That leaves me screaming for days.
Showing more blood and bone than skin
And in my wails of pain,
You can find my heart left exposed,
Only to you.
Waiting and wanting to be hurt again.
For your presence is worth the pain.

The image burnt into my mind.
Of your hands on someone else.
Blushing at their compliments
And laughing at jokes not funny
Dancing and staying up late.
Tackling them and ending up in a heap on the floor,
Then kissing them because you want to do nothing else.
Saying you care about them more.
More than anyone.

The things I've said to you,
The dreams I've dreamt of you.
The parts of me I wanted only you to see.

Yet you turned away and swore to fate,
That you wanted their quirks over mine.
You want them.
You don't feel anything like that towards me.
You are not okay with me wanting you.

You do not need me.
You could turn away and never say hi again
You could turn away without a care in the world
Never look my way again.
Erased from your life without a backwards glance.
Be honest you say
Be open, you say.
Want me to be honest,
I HATE YOU.
STOP RUINING MY LIFE

Just please get out of my thoughts, my life.

Hate and love.
North pole and south pole,
Either side of my globe.
My planet of emotions for you.
Hate and love bind together in ice and fire.
Deadly.
But you are in another universe,
And the planet of you and me is empty.
It's just me.

All alone.
Burning in eternal fire.
The only person on the entire planet
And yet your false presence is there
Cradling me in a soft embrace.
Your kind words and your open laugh.
Love.

You are there in the harsh word of reality.
They slice through my life with a razor sharp blade.
In the 2am words that doomed us forever.
Hate.


Moving on is hard.  
We have to rewrite the narrative,
Rewire my brain.
Never. Ever. Shall I forget this.
The magical mystery ride of you and me.

From more to less on your demand.
Let me strip away my heart,
At your command.

I will get over you.
See you as my friend.
Take the necessary actions to ensure there will be an us in our future.

But what if it's too hard?
This rotten fruit of my love,
That I want nothing to do with.
This gross feeling of betrayal.
Will it ever fade?

Will I ever look at you without that mess in my brain?
Without hearing those words.

I will.

I won't be that person who doesn't want friendship, only wants love.
Too shallow.
Too broken.

I will fight for this, not for you, but for us.

To give up hope.
To give up on love.


For you.

The one who doomed us from the start.