I grew up in a house of closed doors and retreating footsteps, so light I wondered if anyone was even there. A house of ghosts, defined by a thick layer of dust on the couches, and doorbells that were never answered.

I grew up in a house of silence, the only signs of life: coffee mugs in the sink, and leftover crumbs on the kitchen counter. Silence so palpable it wraps itself around my throat until it becomes comforting. The microwave cannot reach zero here.

Birds chirp incessantly on Sunday mornings, and the weight of their music sits heavily on my chest. Plants reach for a slab of sunlight trickling between dusty window shades. I can hear their leaves straining, and I want to tell them to stop.

A patch of sunlight reaches the floor, and my cat purrs loudly and unforgivably in it's warmth. Sitting at the edge of my bed, there are hushed footsteps down the hallway, a door softly shuts, the silence is broken.

My throat tightens, and I shrink away from the light. To be unseen and unheard here is to be safe. There are five ghosts in this house, and I am one of them.

The biggest taboo

is of course, ouch, your parents' --


sexuality.

Family demands

obedience, love isn't --


invulnerable.

Will I then remain

a child, showing my parents --


my abilities?

Peter (my bf) had to fly,
was that just last night?
I have attachment issues.
I hate saying goodbye
- it always makes me cry
an embarrassing tear or two.

Holidays go so fast
relativity’s been proven at last!
Fourteen days of leisure
of sordid intertwined pleasures
on days free of study pressures.

This morning i was in despair
splayed out on an uncomfortable chair
with tangled, unbrushed hair
wearing faded PowerPuff underwear
bored, and wishing Peter was there.

I blame my parents for being afraid
for teaching me every sharp edge of the world
and learning I might never be safe

I blame my parents for being lonely
for missing people I never had
and I know will never hold me

I blame my parents for the sleepless nights
for wondering if I will ever get it right
or one day wish I could go back in time

I blame my parents
because they are my parents
and I can blame them
for who I turned out to be

But when they are gone
and all I have are memories
I’ll just blame them
for leaving me.

These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.

They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.

Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.

Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.  

Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.

I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?

Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.

Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.

I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.

If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.

Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.

You’re right—
I’m just making excuses.
Why am I so 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥
All of the time?

“You get more sleep
Than 99 percent
Of your friends,”
You said.

So doesn’t that mean
I am supposed to be
Happy?

“Be happy,”
I say to myself
In my head.

I am supposed to be
Fine.

But I am not,
And all I have left
Is excuses.

And yet,
Why do I look for more?

I want somebody
To tell me
That you are not right.

But I know you are.

Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.