#unheardvoices
I might as well go rogue
Tell you I’m 18 — nearly 19
But I sit in silence
Waiting on your decision
Your plans
Always yours
Claiming you know what’s best for me
And maybe you do
But I wish you’d listen
Listen to me
My plans
So we can build them together
After all
It’s my life
I’m the one who has to live it
Good or bad
Hopefully good
I’m young, yes
But not foolish
Not blind to what’s right in front of me
Still
I wish you’d listen
You love me
I know
That’s why you let me be — sometimes
But why regret it
When I’m trying to be better?
Maybe to you I’m slacking
But behind the curtains
I am trying
I know I am
I just wish you’d see it
And if you did
A simple “well done”
Would be enough
I want to speak
But I can’t
So I write
I bottle it up
Until I can’t breathe
Until I break
Alone
Of course — not in front of you
Sometimes I think
We’re birds of a feather
Too alike
Too different
Maybe it’s because I’m a girl
Maybe it’s something else
But it would be nice
To see eye to eye
Just once
Instead of you being right
And me left confused
Carrying plans I didn’t choose
Because one day
I’ll have to choose for myself
Time doesn’t pause
For anyone
So isn’t it better
You teach me
To think like you
Instead of sending me into the world
Used to silence
Used to being decided for
Without ever hearing
My voice
My vision
My path
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 11:07 AM UTC
Tears squeezing one by one
From eyes that feign untroubled sleep
Slowly flows
From taut cheeks
Quivering from suppression
Of lips dying to scream out
The words of frustrations
The sentences of antagonism
The paragraphs of vulnerability
That is never allowed to be free
And how they trickle one by one,
Slowly dampening
The pillow that witnesses
All the defenselessness
Of a lonely girl
With voice that shouts
Yet unheard and unsung,
With eyes that implores
Yet unseen and unperceived,
With hands that reaches
Yet untook and ungrasped,
With a heart that waits
Yet forgotten and abandoned.
Jun 15, 2025
Jun 15, 2025 at 9:53 AM UTC
I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral-
who's that in the box, dressed better in death
than I ever managed in life?
Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals
at suicide.
Was this the last chance I had left?
Even in death, my voice isn't heard-
nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull.
Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead,
still hoping the lives I tried to save
might pay my way past the gates,
buy out my debts.
But what if there's no heaven waiting?
What if another kind of hell greets me instead?
What if I never see my old friends again-
never laugh without fear,
never smile without pretending?
What if I never stop
being so ******* afraid
so strangely ashamed
to feel nothing,
to be numb to even shame itself?
All I wanted
was to be born again-
not into some perfect life,
but one that wouldn't lead me
back to searching for another end.
And isn't it strange-
how only in death do we see our regrets
with such clarity?
Because there's nowhere left to run from them
once we get
to the end.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC
I just asked you few things to keep in mind,
Before you open your mouth to talk about me.
I have clearly expressed my intension to stay away from the crowd
But how come you forget this every time?
Every time?
I can't fathom this act of yours.
This running circle of arguments just because you don't listen.
I am fed up, fed up, fed up of this.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 2:10 PM UTC
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.
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
The silence is deafening
To the youth that must be drowning
The silence is deafening
To the woman that lays screaming
The silence is deafening
To the mother who stopped nursing
The silence is deafening
To the old who quit longing
The silence is deafening
To the countless millions searching
The silence is deafening
But unheard
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC