Feels like I won’t fit anywhere,
not in rooms, not in hearts, not even in air.
Like I was born out of place,
a wrong note in a song no one dares to play.

Feels like I am not worth anything,
not a glance, not a second, not a kind word.
Just a shadow walking through noise,
an empty chair no one remembers to miss.

Feels like I’m a burden,
a silent load they carry with gritted teeth.
Their kindness feels like mercy,
not love. Just tolerance. Just time ticking.

Feels like God made a mistake
when He placed me in my mother’s womb.
Like He flinched when He saw me forming,
like He whispered, “Not her,” but it was too late.

Feels like He regrets it every day,
watching me stumble in a skin that never fit,
watching me ache for meaning
in a world that turns away from my voice.

Feels like I should end it myself,
not to escape, but to give peace to them.
To stop being the sigh in their silence,
the tear they hide, the guilt they carry.

Feels like if I leave,
the sun might shine softer,
the room might feel lighter,
and no one would have to pretend anymore.

I walk through crowds with shoulders straight,
A woman alone, divorced by fate.
Not just a title, but a wound they see,
Like I’m broken goods, no longer free.

They say I’m fat, they say it loud,
Dark like night, not fit for a crowd.
“Not exciting,” they laugh, as if I don’t hear,
As if my heart isn’t standing right here.

My family jokes like it’s all light play,
But each word bruises more every day.
Friends join in like it’s all in fun,
Yet somehow I’m the only one
Who doesn’t get to laugh,
Who shrinks inside when they all chaff.

I watch their eyes scan my shape,
Their smiles curve with silent hate.
And still, I smile, my practiced art,
While pain sits heavy in my heart.

Because if I cry, they’ll say I’m weak.
So I just nod, I joke, I speak,
Like none of it cuts, like I don’t care,
Like I’m not bleeding beneath their stare.

But in the mirror late at night,
I whisper truths I hide from light:
I want to be loved for just being me,
Not who they think I should be.

Yes, I am fat. And yes, I’m dark.
But my soul still burns, a quiet spark.
A woman risen from a life undone,
Still standing, still here, not yet run.

And maybe one day, someone will see
The fire I hide so carefully.
Not just a joke, not someone passed by,
But a whole **** storm behind these eyes.

Until then, I smile, the mask I wear,
Not because I’m fine,
But because I still care.

Do I need to live?
Or am I just filling space,
A name no one calls,
A face no one sees,
A soul forgotten in the human race?

I breathe, but what’s the point of air,
When no one’s reaching, no one’s there?
I cry in rooms where silence grows,
And no one hears.
And no one knows.

Am I supposed to stay and try,
When all I do is drift and sigh?
I am tired of “one more day,”
Tired of pretending I’m okay.

Can anyone love me,
This version I hide?
The one that’s quiet,
The one that’s tried.
The one who’s broken, bruised, and scared,
Who only ever wanted to be spared.

I don’t need the world to cheer,
Just someone, real, who draws me near.
To look and say: “You’re not a ghost.
You’re not too late. You still mean most.”

But maybe I’m not meant to stay.
Maybe my purpose slipped away.
Still, something in me holds on tight,
A flicker in the endless night.

So here I am. Not quite dead.
But barely holding up my head.
Hoping someone, someday might see,
That even shadows long to be free.

I was born into shadows, not into light,
Since breath began, nothing felt right.
Not broken by moment, but by design,
A stranger to joy, even in my prime.

Thirty one years, I’ve watched life unfold,
Not in color, just quiet and cold.
Not hated, not loved, just unseen,
Like dust on a shelf, caught in between.

No one has called me their reason to smile,
No one has asked me to stay for a while.
I’ve spoken in rooms that swallowed my sound,
I’ve stood in the crowd but never been found.

What good have I done? What trace have I made?
My efforts feel hollow, my memories fade.
Just ticking through time, a silent parade,
Existing, not living, a slow, aching fade.

And yet, here I am, heart still in chest,
Wounded but breathing, unrested, unblessed.
Each morning I wake feels more like a dare,
To face one more day when no one is there.

So if I am nothing, not needed, not known,
Why does the ache still cut to the bone?
Perhaps it’s the proof, however unfair,
That even unseen, I’m still something there.

One day I won’t hurt anyone anymore
I will let everyone leave me,
And enjoy their space.
I'm not someone to love.
I deserve more darkness.
I'm not good for anything.
I am not a good daughter or sister or friend
I am not a person to be loved.
After all I am good for nothing.
God has a plan for everyone, told by Grandma.
But, he forgets and realised I am good for nothing.
One day, I deserve more darkness and pain.
Melt my soul in air and I will let everyone leave me