#brokenpeople
I learned how to live with pain like it was normal.
Like everyone woke up every day with a tight chest and a tired soul.
I taught myself how to move forward even when I didn’t feel present,
how to exist without really feeling alive.
Some days I don’t remember when I stopped being okay,
I just know it happened quietly.
I grew into someone who carries everything alone.
Not because I want to,
but because I learned early that people don’t always stay.
So I stopped asking for help.
I stopped explaining myself.
I convinced myself that if I stayed quiet,
maybe I wouldn’t be abandoned again.
I miss the version of me that believed in forever.
The one who trusted words,
who thought love meant safety instead of anxiety.
Now every connection feels fragile,
like it could shatter if I lean into it too hard.
I want closeness,
but I’m terrified of how much it hurts when it disappears.
There are nights where my thoughts don’t give me mercy.
They replay voices, moments, goodbyes.
They remind me of how deeply I feel,
and how often that’s been used against me.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder
why I still feel lonely even when people say they care.
I try to be strong for everyone.
I listen. I support. I show up.
I carry other people’s pain like it’s my responsibility.
But no one sees how heavy it gets,
how sometimes I wish someone would notice
that I’m drowning too.
I don’t talk about the days I barely make it through.
The mornings where getting out of bed feels like a war.
The moments where I question my worth,
my purpose,
my place in this world.
I don’t talk about how tired I am of being “the strong one.”
I feel everything intensely.
Love hits me like a storm.
Loss feels like it takes something permanent from me.
I don’t know how to do anything halfway,
and that’s both my gift and my curse.
I love deeply,
and I hurt just as deep.
Writing is where I finally get to breathe.
It’s where I don’t have to water myself down.
Where I can admit I’m scared, lonely, exhausted.
Where my pain turns into something that makes sense,
even if just for a moment.
Words are the only thing that stay when everything else leaves.
I’m still here, even when I don’t understand why.
Still holding on through nights I don’t talk about.
Still hoping, quietly, that one day life will feel softer.
That love won’t feel like something I have to earn.
That peace won’t feel so far away.
Until then, I keep going.
Not because I’m unbreakable,
but because something in me refuses to disappear.
I carry my pain, my love, my history,
and I keep walking forward,
even when every step hurts.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 2:21 PM UTC
Raatein katt gyi intezaar me tere
Han manta hu hum hai gunegaar tere
Tu he thi jisne mohabbat kri humse
Umar bezar jaegi intezaar me tere
Tere hoth kissi ko chu le aur mai zinda bhi rhu
Galat femi hai abhi dimaag me tere
intiha-e- ishq mujhko nadamat me mila
Raegaan he jaegi zindagi intezaar me tere
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 11:36 AM UTC
The people
Who notice
Broken smiles
Are the ones
That have
Their own
How are they
Supposed to
Save someone else
When they
Can't even
Save themself
From darkness
And pain
That hides behind
The dreaded
Fake smile
That fools
Them all
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
By Nabs
Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?
It sounds a lot like your hoarse crying.
Broken moons, stifled sobs
smell of cardamom and pain.
Angry strokes, lightning brush
across this singed canvas.
Paint me with a storm.
Paint me with a storm.
Guttural rumble of disagreement,
muted in its pallor.
Second hand embarrassment
is lethal to the skin.
Broken bottles, broken souls
stuck in a machination of malfunctioning systems.
we never had control in the first place.
We put energies in our sorrows,
forgetting to store them for our backbone.
No wonder we can't stand straight
and look up to the sun.
"Amnesia", we would plead.
Cause all we remember is how to bleed.
Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?
It sounds a lot like the day we went crashing.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
Sometimes the problem isn't time and place.
Sometimes it's the fear of things going right.
Broken people don't know what to do with right.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
I just read a quote,
it may explain why I can be so snappy
especially to people I love most,
to people I envision as perfection,
you see 'some people are so broken,
they get mad at you for being whole.'
See s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ it aches so much,
but you don't feel it.
S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ I find everything so hard,
but you're the one gleaming with confidence.
I'll take my digs where I can.
you see 'some people are so broken,
they get mad at you for being whole.'
It's no excuse I know,
i'm not trying to feed guilt into your perfect soul.
I just wanted to you to see,
I wont realise what i'm doing till it's done,
I will always do it,
you see 'some people are so broken,
they get mad at you for being whole.'
Even my poetry is broken,
please don't write any,
I'll only get mad.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC