#quietstruggles
I smile at mirrors that don"t smile back,
Carrying my heart like its starting to crack
I laugh real loud so no one can hear the sound of my thoughts when I'm all alone with my fear
I say "Im fine" like its easy to say,
But the truth feels heavier everyday
My tears know my name, they fall on repeat,
Like rain that remembers the cracks in the street
I gave so much love, I forgot what I needed,
Planted my soul just to watch others feed
I stayed to long, I hoped to hard, played every hand and still lost every card
the nights get louder, the days feel fake,
I hold myself together, just so I don"t break
I scream in silence, I ache in rhyme,
Im tired of healing the same old time
But if I cry, let it mean I cared,
That I felt deeply, that I dared,
These tears aren't weakness, they're
Proof I tried,
Proof I was real even when I cried
But that's proof I can never show the proof is all dried up,
My tears ran out,
Now I smile through silence, through fear, thought doubt
What hurt me most, no one will see,
Cause the pain looks quiet,
when it lives inside
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 8:33 PM UTC
It’s 5 a.m.,
still awake like a noctivagant
who wanders the house,
counting footsteps between rooms,
fear trailing behind like a thin shadow—
a pall stretched across the day before it begins.
“Did you sleep today?” the question rises,
soft, rehearsed, almost kind.
“Yes, I did,” I answer without hesitation,
a lie delivered cleanly,
knowing well
sleep was never made for me,
or perhaps I was never shaped to hold it.
The ceiling knows my stare too well.
The clock blinks accusations.
Hours pass without permission,
each minute a quiet theft.
Scrolling and binging,
thumb numb, mind louder than ever,
I trade rest for noise,
light for distraction.
It doesn’t adore my studies—
doesn’t even pretend to—
yet the pressure persists,
a weight that doesn’t sleep
even when I beg it to.
Thoughts ruminate,
chewing the same failures raw,
replaying futures I haven’t lived
and pasts that refuse burial.
I am hypervigilant,
listening for disasters
that haven’t learned my name yet.
Morning comes like an obligation,
not a relief.
The world wakes refreshed;
I arrive unfinished,
stitched together by caffeine and resolve,
dragging night behind my eyes.
If sleep is a refuge,
then I am stranded at its border—
liminal, unrested,
learning how to function
while profoundly awake.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 5:00 PM UTC
Soft biscuits, crunchy teeth; crunch time:
mid-twenties, late twenties, thirty knocking
without knocking, every age an ill-fitting jacket.
Do we _stumble or stutter,_ __belt it or buckle?__
I’m exhausted from outrunning myself through
the ash of volatile passions, burning my tongue
on honesty, spilling my heart like it won’t blister.
With all these pestering thoughts, will the words
escape me or sit heavy in my mouth? Every shallow
sentence hides a depth. Every page of life you've
read, is riddled with misspelt moments —missing the
__S,__ of the quiet **** you survive, but never speak aloud.
Life is a biscuit you pray comes with a creamy centre,
yet the middle lives between a lot of hardship & time.
_Crunch, crunch, crunch_ — how much can you really
swallow before it lodges in your throat, choking
you into either despair or happy tears?
Dec 28, 2025
Dec 28, 2025 at 12:16 PM UTC