#trophy - Hello Poetry

i know the floor is covered in my crumbs. i’m a mess of sugar and blue stains, a muffin that stayed in the heat until the edges turned sharp. i know i’m broken. i’ve seen the way i spill over, the way my "too much" leaves marks on the hands that try to hold me. i have a habit of hurting people just by existing in their space. i’m messy, i’m sticky, and i’m a disaster that no amount of sugar can actually fix. And i’m terrified of what i’ll do to you. i am the orange, and i know how the juice can sting. i know that to get to the center, you have to peel back the rind, and i’m scared that my bitterness will get under your fingernails and stay there until you don't recognize your own scent. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. i’m terrified that i’ll get my juice in your eyes and blind you until you start acting like me. i don’t want to split you. i don’t want to hear your voice start breaking because i’m too much of a "no-decision" to stay still. i don’t want to turn you into a script that i’ve already failed, forcing you to play a part that makes you look like a ghost. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. but if you’re already looking for the exit, if my voice is too loud and the forest is too dark, then i wish you would just go. don’t stand there in the doorway waiting for me to be less of a wreck. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. don’t wait for me to get better; we both know i’m a slow rot. if you have to leave, do it while your hands are still clean. don’t stay until the juice burns you, don’t stay until you’re just another ghost haunting my forest. if you’re going to walk, walk now, before i turn you into something as broken as i am. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. but i hope when you dream of me, i am only the sweetness— the part of the fruit that sustains, not the part that stings. i hope i don't rewire your frequency until you’re just another echo of my mess. i’m a disaster in a paper liner, but **** it, i love you... And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. i’m archiving the syllables of my apologies before i even say them, praying that for once, the gavel falls in your favor. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. so i’m standing here, shaking, cupping the juice in my hands because i don’t want to spill it on you. my palms are stinging and my fingers are sticky with the mess of myself, but i’m white-knuckling the air. i’m already hurt, and i know you are too, but please— don't let me be the thing that turns you into a ghost

0

May 1

May 1, 2026 at 8:21 AM UTC

sd_nerd27

breaking the trophy

i know the floor is covered in my crumbs. i’m a mess of sugar and blue stains, a muffin that stayed in the heat until the edges turned sharp. i know i’m broken. i’ve seen the way i spill over, the way my "too much" leaves marks on the hands that try to hold me. i have a habit of hurting people just by existing in their space. i’m messy, i’m sticky, and i’m a disaster that no amount of sugar can actually fix. And i’m terrified of what i’ll do to you. i am the orange, and i know how the juice can sting. i know that to get to the center, you have to peel back the rind, and i’m scared that my bitterness will get under your fingernails and stay there until you don't recognize your own scent. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. i’m terrified that i’ll get my juice in your eyes and blind you until you start acting like me. i don’t want to split you. i don’t want to hear your voice start breaking because i’m too much of a "no-decision" to stay still. i don’t want to turn you into a script that i’ve already failed, forcing you to play a part that makes you look like a ghost. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. but if you’re already looking for the exit, if my voice is too loud and the forest is too dark, then i wish you would just go. don’t stand there in the doorway waiting for me to be less of a wreck. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. don’t wait for me to get better; we both know i’m a slow rot. if you have to leave, do it while your hands are still clean. don’t stay until the juice burns you, don’t stay until you’re just another ghost haunting my forest. if you’re going to walk, walk now, before i turn you into something as broken as i am. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. but i hope when you dream of me, i am only the sweetness— the part of the fruit that sustains, not the part that stings. i hope i don't rewire your frequency until you’re just another echo of my mess. i’m a disaster in a paper liner, but **** it, i love you... And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. i’m archiving the syllables of my apologies before i even say them, praying that for once, the gavel falls in your favor. And i'm terrified of what i'll do to you. so i’m standing here, shaking, cupping the juice in my hands because i don’t want to spill it on you. my palms are stinging and my fingers are sticky with the mess of myself, but i’m white-knuckling the air. i’m already hurt, and i know you are too, but please— don't let me be the thing that turns you into a ghost