He used to look at me,  
eyes meeting mine like secret words,  
quietly folding over our small world.  
A laugh, a smile,  
a glance that lingered just a little longer,  
like we were caught in a whispered story.

But now there’s nothing.  
Days pass like a dimming pulse.  
No messages, no mentions,  
just the cold echo of everything left unsaid.  
The warmth once here has slipped away,  
like it never even happened,  
a memory erased before it had the chance to stay.

I wonder if I imagined it,  
if the closeness was just a flicker in the dark.  
He’s here and gone, like a fading spark.  
And though I wish it would light again,  
I wait in silence, shadows,  
just the ache of where he’d been.

I’m giving you until December 31st,  
to make me change my mind,  
but I won’t tell you.  

For now, I’ll talk to you,  
write about you,  
think about you endlessly,  
and tell my boy best friend all about you.  

Until December 31st,  
I’ll hope your feelings might shift,  
that maybe, just maybe,  
you’ll love me,  
and tell me you do.  

Because five minutes before midnight,  
I’ll send you this poem,  
and I’ll wait for your answer.  

If you don’t feel the same,  
I’ll delete your Snap,  
your Insta,  
the Halloween post,  
and every poem I’ve ever written about you.  

I’ll try to forget,  
but I know I won’t.  

Three years ago,  
we spoke once,  
just a bit,  
and I’ve loved you since.  

We didn’t talk after the game,  
but we met again,  
at that Halloween party.  

I knew you’d be there.  
I made sure I looked pretty,  
hoping you’d notice,  
hoping it would make you like me.  

I don’t think it did,  
even if your eyes  
told a different story.  

I’ll never forget the night you told me  
you didn’t like anyone.  
I’ll never forget it,  
because that was the first time  
I showed someone a poem.  

I’d posted my words on stories,  
but never sent one so raw,  
so personal,  
to someone.  

But I showed it to you,  
because it was about you,  
because with you,  
it felt true.

When I see you again,  
I’ll wait from afar,  
watching, hoping,  
to see if you’ll come to me.  
Even just a wave  
a small sign  
that I still exist to you.  

When I see you again,  
I won’t talk to you first.  
I’ll wait,  
even if it breaks me,  
even as I wait for something  
I know might never come.  

If you text me now,  
I won’t answer.  
I’ll wait,  
just like I wait every day  
for the answers you never give.  

I’ll wait until I realize  
how foolish I’ve been,  
and I’ll answer anyway.  

I’ll try to shake off the truth  
that you don’t care,  
but it lingers  
because if you did,  
you would’ve tried.

I’m not mad,  
I’m just sad  
so empty inside,  
but I swear,  
I haven’t always been like this.  

I was Daddy’s little girl once,  
sweet, naive,  
careless and happy.  

Then I grew up  
and the sadness grew with me.  
I couldn’t let it out,  
so I bottled it all.  

Being mean became my mask,  
my way to hide the pain.  
It still is.  

But now I wonder  
what’s the point anymore?

My biggest fear?  
Not being able to find love,  
because I’m too hard to love.  

Maybe it’s because I’m ugly,  
maybe because I’m not funny,  
maybe I’m just a horrible person,  
because I don’t love myself enough.  

I wonder if that’s the reason,  
if that’s why no one stays.  
Maybe I’m just too much,  
or not enough in all the ways.  

But maybe, deep down,  
I’m just waiting for someone  
to show me I’m worth loving  
even when I can’t show it to myself.

This time,  
my poems aren’t about you,  
but about me.  

Tonight,  
I’m showing my scars,  
showing the pain,  
writing the words I can’t say aloud.  

The old me would’ve been on the floor,  
crying,  
begging God to take her away.  
I still do,  
and I don’t think that’ll ever stop.  

But the new me writes about it.  
Not fully  
but she’s trying to be real,  
at least with herself.  

Not with her friends though,  
she doesn’t want to lose them.  
So maybe I didn’t change after all,  
but I’m trying.  

But nothing really changes,  
except my age,  
and my friends.  
Everything around me changes for the better,  
while I stand here,  
frozen in time,  
unable to move.  

But maybe that’s for the better.

I'm scared someone will finally see the sad girl I am.  
I'm scared they'll realize the smile I wear every day is fake,  
like everyone else around me.  
I'm scared they'll look down,  
see my arms  
those arms didn’t ******* deserve these scars.  

I'm scared they'll hate the girl I really am,  
happy one second,  
broken as hell the next.  
I'm scared they'll see me whole  
or what's left of me,  
the parts I didn’t cut away.  

Maybe I’m just not meant to be close to people.  
But I hope one day I’ll find someone,  
someone who’ll see these scars  
and not ******* judge me.  
I don’t need them to understand the pain,  
the kind of pain that made me do this.  
I just need them to be there,  
standing beside me,  
promising me it’s gonna be alright  
even if it’s not.  
Even if it never will.