Enough—
I am weary of your trembling lips,
your midnight sighs,
your love that wilts like a forgotten rose.
I have carried your heartbreak too long,
draped in metaphors of longing and loss.

I am more than just your sorrow,
more than ink stained with your grief.
Do not carve me from your loneliness alone—
write the hunger in a beggar’s eyes,
the quiet ache of a mother’s empty arms,
the silent wars waged behind smiling faces.

Let me hold the weight of others too—
the child tracing shadows on cracked walls,
the dreamer lost between stars and concrete,
the hands that build, the hands that break,
the hands that reach but never touch.

Do not chain me to your mirrored wounds—
set me free to speak for all,
to be the voice of the unheard,
to live beyond your endless verses
of wilted love and shattered nights.

Let me be more.

—Poem.