The home she never had—
the one she always dreamt of.
A picture-perfect, loving family,
with a supportive dad,
a gentle, caring mom,
and an older sibling who protected her.

A home without fights,
without slammed doors,
without the quiet sobs
behind bathroom walls,
or the midnight tears
that no one saw—
because if they did,
they’d only judge.

A home where she didn’t have to hide,
where she could speak without fear,
where anxiety didn’t live in her chest
like a shadow that never left.

A place where she didn’t need to write
just to feel heard—
because someone, finally, listened.

Where love wasn’t something
she searched for in strangers’ arms,
because she had felt it
right there, at home.

She built that home in dreams each night—
because it never stood where she lived.

how come I'm the one left unloved?
How come I have no friends to turn to?
How come I'm always the one they judge —
never truly seen, never truly known?
How come there's no shoulder for my tears,
no arms to hold me when it hurts?
How come I keep wishing someone,
anyone, would care?
How come I still want to fit in,
even when it means losing pieces of myself?
How come I'm not me,
but who they want me to be?
And how come —
in the quietest moments —
I wonder if I should even exist at all?

If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.

no one’s eyes made me write—
my life did.
the things I’ve endured,
the family I never had,
the trauma I carry
turned me into a poet.

it forced the ink
out of my veins—
red, yet black,
like the blood
still coursing
through me.

I bleed onto paper
without a knife,
just wounds that never heal,
just pain that never
learns to stop.

it drains me dry—
and yet I stand,
barely.

begging to be taken,
begging to vanish,
to disappear
from a world
I was never meant
to be born in.

Confess your love for her —
or forever hold your breath,
and watch her
walk down the aisle
toward someone
she never truly chose.

Say it now,
while she can still be yours,
while her heart
still beats freely.

Tell her —
that you’ve loved her
since the moment
you first saw her.

That her smile
melts your heart
every single time.

That you can’t imagine
a life without her.
That she’s the reason
you’re still breathing.

That she’s the color
on your blank canvas,
the verse
in every song you’ve ever written,
the meaning
in every moment you’ve lived.

Tell her —
you were never whole
without her.
That she was the missing piece
to your puzzle,
the one that made you
complete.

Because if you don’t…
you’ll spend a lifetime
wondering how it felt
to be loved back
by the one
you never had the courage
to fight for.

How come every time
I try to leave it all behind,
Try to forget the pain,
The damage I've been through,
It always finds its way back to me?

It never lets me go.
Like I’m trapped in a cage,
With no way out,
No space to breathe —
But somehow, I’m still alive.

Every time I think I’ve moved on,
That I’ve finally healed,
It creeps back in,
Like a shadow I can’t run from.

It tightens around me,
Like invisible hands on my throat.
Not enough to end me,
Just enough to make me breathless.

And I wonder —
Will it ever let me go?