I hate society—
not the word,
but the weight it straps to my back.

I hate judging eyes,
the kind that scan you like price tags
in stores you were never meant to enter.

I hate the whispers,
those secondhand sentences
stitched behind backs
then sweetened with smiles
when you turn around.

I hate the ungrateful—
the ones who drink from your cup
then ask why it wasn’t full enough.

I hate stone-throwers
in glass houses
who forget how loud
their own silence shatters
when truth hits back.

I hate the crowd—
the noise, the pretending,
the push to perform
when all I want
is to exist
in peace.

And sometimes,
I even hate the parts of me
still trying to belong
to a world
I no longer believe in.

They raise their voice—
sharp as thunder breaking morning.
I sigh, roll my eyes,
but later find dinner kept warm,
a blanket folded at the foot of my bed,
the porch light left on.

School drains me—
assignments stack like bricks.
But my backpack holds books,
my teachers call me by name,
someone saves a chair for me.

Sometimes I ache
from being the one who always understands.
But my playlist still knows the lyrics
that hold me together.

And in the quiet,
I see the love that never left.

I was always afraid of loneliness—
and more than that, the dark.
It made everything feel heavier.
I cried quietly when no one was around.

I chased the light,
but it never chased me back.
It passed over me like I didn’t matter.
So the dark stayed—
not by choice, but by nowhere else to go.

At first, it scared me,
but then I saw what the light never showed.
The dark didn’t demand my smile.
It let me fall apart without questions,
gave me space to breathe.

Now I sit with it quietly,
and the shadows finally feel like home.

if I've scattered like star dust
just to glow in your sky
Maybe- that too
is a kind of becoming.