Look.
They want the pop-chart healing, the acoustic strum.
I used to laugh at the cupids, thought love was dumb. Turned my ribs into a vault, locked the combination.
Now I'm scrolling through the frequencies, seeking validation.

Listen.
Certified cynic, archetype of the modern cold,
I traded warmth for armor long before I got old.
You see the smile on the surface, textbook camouflage,
A phantom living large inside a hollowed-out mirage.
I called it "detachment," called it "rising above,"
A pseudo-intellectual defense for a lack of love.
I rationalized the distance, put a thesis on pride,
Said vulnerability’s a luxury that I can't provide.
Denial was my co-pilot, a comfort in the dark,
Until the frostbite finally settled deep into the arc.
Of a cardiac arrest, spiritual rot in progress,
My chest cavity a museum of unaddressed distress.
I didn’t want to look the monster dead in the eye,
I preferred the sweet deception of a plausible lie—
"I'm just selective, I'm just protective of space."
Nah. I’m just a coward who's afraid to lose the race;
So queue up the R&B, give me the heavy rotation,
A graduate of heartbreak, lacking certification.
My heart turned obsidian, pigment completely drained,
A walking contradiction where the apathy remained.
I used to mock the romantics, thought I was far above,
Look at the mirror now: I’m chronically bad at love.

Yeah. I am bad at love. Say it.

Psychological autopsy on a Friday night,
Dissecting why every connection has to end in a fight.
Is it ego? Is it nurture? Is it fear of the fall?
Or just a total system failure when I answer the call?
I sabotage the blossom right before it can bloom,
Turn intimacy into an impending sense of doom.
A masterclass in pushing people out of the door,
Then standing in the wreckage wondering what it’s for.
I need the maestros, the poets, the soul-sample kings,
To explain the heavy gravity of invisible things.
Give me Whitney, give me Mary, give me old school pain, Inject the frequency of longing straight into my vein. Because my intellect couldn’t outsmart the ache,
There’s only so much synthetic oxygen I can take.
I admit it—concession accepted, the armor is cracked,
My internal landscape is permanently midnight black.

So queue up the R&B, give me the heavy rotation,
A graduate of heartbreak, lacking certification.
My heart turned obsidian, pigment completely drained,
A walking contradiction where the apathy remained.
I used to mock the romantics, thought I was far above, Look at the mirror now: I’m chronically bad at love.

Yeah.
You thought intelligence was immunity.
Thought if you understood the mechanics of the trap,
You wouldn't step in it.
Turns out the smartest minds just build more sophisticated cages.
Play the track. Let the frequencies fix what the intellect broke.

Can’t deny anymore- I am bad at love, just say it 🖤

I wake up every morning already fucking drained

Like every hour I'm breathing is another hour chained

I stumble through the motions with a smile upon my face

While everything inside me screams that I don't have a place

I'm sick of hearing people say that everything takes time

When every day I'm sinking further down this goddamn climb

They tell me that I'm stronger than the things I've had to bear

Then why the fuck does breathing feel like more than I can spare

I've screamed inside my silence till my throat has turned to stone

And somehow in a crowded room I've never felt more alone

I'm tired of explaining why I can't just let things go

When half the fucking battle is a pain they'll never know

I know exactly what's been wrong and where it all began

But knowing doesn't change a thing or make me whole again

I've tried to find a reason in the wreckage of my mind

But every answer disappears and leaves me further behind

And God I'm fucking angry that I'm still stuck in this place

Where every little bit of peace is something I must chase

My life is not something I want to give

But there are times I just don't want to live

And there's a difference that I wish they'd understand

Between wanting life to end and needing someone to hold my hand

I don't need another lecture telling me to persevere

I need somebody to explain why nothing's getting clear

I've fought against these feelings till there's nothing left to fight

And every fucking morning feels as empty as the night

I used to think that somewhere there was something worth the pain

But every time I reach for it I'm standing in the rain

I'm sick of being grateful for the fact I'm still alive

When all I ever seem to do is struggle to survive

I watch the world keep turning like there's nothing going wrong

While every day I wonder how I've lasted for this long

And maybe that's the cruelest thing about the way I feel

That everything around me lives while nothing in me feels real

I wish that I could tell you there's a light beyond this hell

But every promise I've believed has broken where it fell

I keep searching for an answer in the silence of my room

But all I hear is emptiness that echoes through the gloom

And now I'm sitting here with words I don't know how to say

Because I cannot picture things improving anyway

I don't know what I'm waiting for or what I'm waiting through

I'm running out of ways to make the old excuses new

There's no dramatic ending and no lesson I can share

Just another fucking night of wishing things weren't there

And when the morning comes again I'll do what I have done

Pretend I still believe there's something waiting with the sun

But every night I'm less convinced that anything will change

And even hearing my own name is starting to sound strange

I wish I had some final words to make this suffering clear

But all I've got is silence and another fucking year

I used to ask how much more pain a person could withstand

Now I just stare at empty space with nothing left in hand

I hope the sunset covers my last breath.
Hues of joy that blend together to symbolize the end.
A golden tide to catch my tears,
A beautiful day to disappear.

I hope it’s calm and quiet.
If you listen, stillness has a sound.
Birds sing a parting gift,
I tried to find peace, nature was all that I found.

I hope there’s comfort in the end.
The safety of a parent carrying you to bed.

the bend in spillway road

Death is fickle, and my long time acquaintance
can a child understand that?
something to be fickle

i surely didn’t
and i recall my first search of it
and it’s plaguing of me
the more simple definition:

lacking loyalty
erratic
and unpredictable

it seemed mine own synonym

so i learned its customs, too
a synopsis of a being
just below black and white photos
evidence of breath taken, a soul
and hoards of until we meet again’s,
and no one was like you’s

i contest them all.
for my anger
and my grief
comes only with not knowing
your consciousness

what are you now?

my heart does not fault in your absence,
it only quivers when supposing
that your synapses might have passed along
only feelings of regret
all while locked arm in arm,
with the last thrum of your weakening pulse
a torturous end, maybe

but regardless, the paradox forges ahead
manifested by my own mauling
stalking me, it’s riddle:
ought life to be more critical?
as it is short, or fickle as they say
or should it be unserious?
dismissive, in it’s uncontrollable,
fleeting progression?

and in that I am truly wedged
immovable, a sacrificial
your very own deer in headlights
and in that
i’ve grown to contest you, too

for even you know we will never meet again
and my sentiment to that puzzle
well, it can only be the same as yours

so just tell me it. in candid.
i cannot stomach to dig at your grave any longer
it’s soil replenishing for millennia
while I still search for breast, a stapes,
the withering tongue
all of it marinating under my own spirited bile

why do you beg to remain in between?
forgotten, and neverwhere

Be loyal to me as you once were with death
and humor my improbable joy
i don’t need you to become again
just tell me in your true cadence
what life truly is
air in lungs?
is there a symphony to reveal?

if you’ve dared ever cared at all
you’ll whisper it to me in a dream
and we’ll negotiate tomorrow’s fate

winter torments me

just as summer

all i have is envy

soon, it should be over

////

the war within is not easy

blood is all over

traumas are deadly

no way to recover

////

what stops you to fly over sea

what's all this for, you wonder

i can only tell what i see

we are here to kindly suffer

I’ve been at rock bottom for so long it’s starting to feel bottomless.

Please don't tell me I'm needed. Don't tell me there's a purpose hidden somewhere in this life that I have spent so longtrying to make sense of.

I'm tired of being told I matter by people who never seem to notice when I go quiet, who never wonder why my laughter fades, who never hear the things I leave unsaid in every I'm fine I use to keep them comfortable.
You tell me the world would miss me, but my phone stays silent for days. My name becomes a conversation the moment I leave the room, and somehow I'm always the last to know what everyone thinks of me.

So tell me, how can you promise I am loved when I've spent so long feeling like the easiest person to forget?
My friends would still wake up tomorrow. The boy I like might wonder why I stopped answering his messages. My sister would have classes to attend, my parents would have jobs to return to, and the world would keep turning because the world has never needed my permission to move on.

And I know life would change in ways I cannot begin to understand. I know people can matter more than they realize they do.
But when you're this lonely, it's difficult to believe you could mean that much to anyone when nobody seems to noticehow desperately you're wishing someone would ask if you're okay.

Nobody has ever truly seen me. Not the thoughts I swallow, not the tears I hide, not the little girl inside me who still wonders what she must do to finally be enough for someone to notice she's hurting.

And that's what frightens me— how desperately I want to be known, how many times I've silently begged for someone to look a little closer, and how easily the world seems to miss the things I cannot bring myself to say.
I'm tired.

I'm tired of crying over feelings I cannot put into words, of waking up already exhausted, of carrying a sadness so consuming that even the happiest moments feel impossibly far away.
I'm tired of the silence that follows me into every empty room, of the thoughts that grow louder when there is nobody left to distract me, of having to be the one who saves myself every single time I fall apart.

And sometimes, I don't know how to explain how badly I need it all to stop.
Not my heartbeat. Not my future. Not the possibility of becoming someone who doesn't have to fight so hard just to feel okay.
I don't want my life to end. I just don't know how to keep living with a pain that never seems to end.

I don't want to disappear. I want to stop feeling invisible.
I don't want to stop existing. I want to stop feeling like I'm only existing.
I want to wake up one morning and not have to fight my own mind before my feet even touch the floor. I want to laugh without feeling the sadness waiting patiently for me afterward. I want to sit in a quiet room without the silence convincing me that nobody would care if I spoke.

I want to be here without it hurting so much to be here.
And God, I wish someone understood that there's a difference.

Because I am still a girl with things she wants to do, words she wants to say, places she wants to see, and a future she wishes she could picture without feeling so tired just thinking about reaching it.

I don't want to lose those things.
I just want a little relief. A little quiet inside my head. A little proof that feeling this way doesn't mean I'll feel this way forever.

So please, don't just tell me I have reasons to stay.

Help me find a way to make staying hurt less.
Don't tell me how much people need me and leave me alone with the same ache. Don't wait until I can explain my sadnessin words that make sense to everyone else.

Because I am still here.
Even on the days when I don't know how to explain why. Even when the sadness makes it difficult to remember what happiness felt like. Even when all I can manage is another ordinary day that nobody knows was hard to get through.

I am still here, and I don't want to stop being here.
I just want the hurting to stop.
So please, don't mistake my exhaustion for a life I no longer want.

I want mornings that don't feel so heavy. I want nights that don't end in tears. I want to feel like a person again, not a collection of wounds trying to convince everyone she's healed.
I want to find myself somewhere beyond this sadness.

And more than anything, I want someone to hear me say that I'm not okay and understand that I'm not asking to be told how lucky I am.
I'm asking not to be alone in this.
Please don't just ask me to stay. Please help me believe that one day, being here won't hurt so much.

Don't rock the boat.
Choke.
Never say what's needed.
Started adult life nearly defeated.

Nerve pried apart.
Invisible display.
I hate how everyone
sees through me this way.

Loving therapist?
My mind insists she cares.
I know she knows my tics
but she says she's no mentalist.

Mid-shift, not held enough,
she says I'm "commanding." Right on cue.
Did she know what it would do?
She's so smart and just like me.

Fighting depression with caffeine.
Never wanting to be seen.
I can't even fucking eat
without constantly considering

Who's around? How much sound?
Rustling packages are too loud
but hyperpalatable.
I removed all the wrappers before coming around.

Sugar sugar sugar bread.
Never gain a pound.
Burn it off with my brain.
Sugar bread brain lying down.

You hear that Reddit, It's my birthday this one has to be popular

I sink deeper into my dread

Keep myself from dead,

Only to semi medicate

My way through the slog of life I'm left to dedicate

Time and effort to, the ebb and flow of reality

Drip drip dripping down the drain of my existencialiality

Which is really just a funny way to say that I hate myself

More than any terrorist group, More than any self-

Servicing billionaires because the cruel thing in life is that you only know you,

Meaning that all that hate you think belongs to others is actually only true

When it's pointed towards you

Because to them they're the only thing that's real too

One night I lean on my windowsill
and see a shadow,
white and still,
on the highest floor.
Seven stories, I count,
and nothing under it
but a light breeze.

I can’t tell what it is.
The dark keeps its edges to itself.
I make out a stubborn stance,
all my strained eyes will give me.

A cat, I tell myself,
or some stray thing the wind has found.
It could be anything.

All I ask
is that it’s not a who.

The shadow drops,
not with a body’s weight
but in a slow unfolding,
a white cloth slipping its clothespins,
sailing down the dark.

A sheet.
Just a sheet.

Now every night at the windowsill,
my face drifts from the moon to that edge,
and then the ground beneath it,
blurred again
by a slightly leaky eye. 

I lost everyone I ever truly loved.

I live alone, and I don’t want anyone anymore.

I am not a loser; I just found peace.

Peace in having no one left to lose.

I like to keep my distance from everyone.

I don’t share anything with anybody anymore.

I don’t text or call anyone.

Anyone who calls me, I try to avoid.

I want to talk, but there’s nobody.

I do everything alone, and I am completely fine.

I do feel sometimes that I wish I had someone.

Someone who could truly understand me.

I am happy this way, and that’s all that’s left.

I started loving myself, and it changed me.

I took years to get where I am now.

Now it’s time to respect this life.

OH FORGIVE ME MY LORD, FOR WHAT I HAD DONE. WHAT ON THE SELF, EXODUS 13. MY WRISTS AND MY HANDS, COVERED IN BLOOD. WAS I SELF AWARE OF WHAT I HAD DONE? YOU TOLD ME THAT I WAS "SO SELFISH!" YOU TOLD ME THAT "YOU ARE JUST CARELESS!" OH AND WHO IS NOW? THE ONE WHO CRIED BENEATH THE MOON, OR THE ONE WHO FAILED TO NOTICE THE BRUISE? OH, AND THE BLADE, FOR IT TO BE CLEAN, IT WILL NEVER BE, FREE OUT OF YOUR SIN. OH, AND REMINDER YOU WON'T, JUST GRIEVE ME ON MY GRAVE. FOR WHAT I HAD DONE. ON THE SPECIAL OCCASION, THAT IS WHAT YOU WILL DO. G R I E V E. And for what i have known... My lord you are not, The one who exists, who will save this, our world.

trapped beneath 
careless, reckless

autumn gold
material love

pros and cons
over frozen ponds

i am justified
and never validated

you get it now?
the stillest cloud
and dry pavement

never rained
and still gray

I have watched the green in your eyes

the exact shade of the nature you explore–

moss after rain,

new leaves uncurling in the understory,

the quiet places you walk when the world feels too loud.

Your skin is pale

like the flowers that insist on blossoming in snow,

delicate and certain,

refusing to wait for warmer weather.

I have imagined moonlight resting there

the way it rests on fresh petals,

soft and almost translucent.

And your hair –

red like the ladybug you love so much,

bright against the dark,

small and fierce and impossible to ignore.

I have pictured it flying

while you spin under a low moon,

someone’s hands steady at your waist,

someone tall enough to make the night feel safe.

I am not that someone.

I know this the way I know the soft hum

that remains when your voice is gone.

I spelled your favorite flower in the quiet air

while you sat beside me at the piano.

A song neither of us had to search for.

The notes rose and fell

and for a moment the classroom felt like a clearing

where nothing could be taken from us.

The look you gave me then

was worth more than any language I will ever learn.

You forgot the summer talks.

Seven concussions will do that.

But I kept every word.

I kept the way you light a room

simply by walking into it.

I kept the scarf you were knitting in class

and hoped, quietly, that it turned out as beautiful

as the girl who made it.

I kept the sound of your laugh

and the way your heart still believes

in dancing in the rain

and being called beautiful before a first kiss.

You want someone who notices everything.

Someone who would read the notes app

and the Pinterest board labeled “my future husband.”

Someone who understands that love is quiet and gentle

and stays through the ordinary days.

You want forget-me-nots and daffodils and daisies

in a bouquet that matches your stature.

I am not tall enough.

Not handsome enough.

Not the kind of man your eyes have already decided on.

So I will never say the three words

that live in my chest like a second heartbeat.

It would be unfair

to hand you a love you did not ask for

from someone you barely know

the way I know you.

Still, every moment we share

feels like something I am already losing.

You sit next to me and think nothing of it.

I sit next to you and memorize the air –

the red of your hair like a ladybug in flight,

the pale of your skin like snow-blooming flowers,

the green of your eyes like the wild places you love.

I hope the man you eventually choose

knows how to dance.

I hope he lets that ladybug-red hair fly

and holds you as if the moon itself

asked him to be careful.

I hope he brings you flowers

that remember your name

even when you forget the small things.

And if one day you no longer remember mine,

I will not mind.

I only ask that the story you tell your children

is soft and bright and true.

A high-school love pretty enough

to make them believe the world

can still be kind.

I will keep the piano.

I will keep the sign language.

I will keep the green of your eyes

the way some people keep photographs

they never show anyone.

You deserve the fairytale.

I was only ever the quiet chapter

that loved you too carefully

to ask for a place in the ending.

​

Holidays are something I'm starting to dread.

Everytime he starts to verbally demolish them...

I see blue and red.

These are times I hold close to my heart.

Maybe because it's the only time my family didn't really fall apart.

But nonetheless. Year after year now, I'm in distress.

A day for lovers, cringe and bleak, says we can celebrate any day of the week.

That day never comes.

Mother's day is over priced, over crowded and kinda dumb.

Fathers day isn't celebrated enough, dads always firing up the grill and cooking the grub.

Halloween being my favorite, the pumpkins, the costumes the night of fright, you never forget . . . Is a waste and weird and takes up too much space.

Thanksgiving I can understand.. it's made off of stolen land.

Christmas, it's a scheme... For the money hungry... And full of greed. . .

Even birthdays Im starting to hate .. years of this, matter of fact, 8.

It's always the same. As they approach he starts his misery game.

Why can't we have these holidays... To be together and celebrate family? Why does it always have to make me clamy?

As they approach, he nags and gnaws at them like a roach. It's annoying, it's hurtful, it's disheartening, it's awful. .

All year. Every year... It never fails. I'm growing accustom to the derail. Is he doing this on purpose? I'm giving up, I guess.