A sewing needle pulls a red string
Taut against the flesh of my lips
By my own hand I am bound
From my mouth nothing slips


I was on the edge
not of a street,
but of everything.
The kind of tired that sleep can’t touch.
The kind of stillness that feels like disappearing.

And then
a glance.
Soft, unplanned.
A stranger with blue eyes that didn’t ask,
just saw.

No words, no story,
only silence between us
that somehow said,
“Stay.”

One stop away
that’s all.
But in that moment,
it could have been another universe.

I didn’t fall in love.
I fell into the possibility
that maybe, just maybe,
life isn’t done with me yet.

I was just a little girl
Watching chaos unravel, helplessly
Confusion became a daily routine
Silence, my only defense
And I honed the art of observing pain.

Day by day
I saved up pieces of disappointment
Until the jar began to crack
Spilling exhaustion
Hardening into quiet rebellion
Sharpening into well-trained disgust.

We stopped looking, even beneath the bed
Where is the sorry we deserved?
Where is the responsibility you clung to so tightly?
Where is all the change you once promised?

But whatever
You're here, technically
And us?
We've mastered the art of needing nothing from you.

I used to draw on my arm all the time
Nothing big or elaborate
Just a triangle
One triangle
Then I wouldn’t hear the end of it
Everyone complaining
Ink poisoning
Future punk
What’s next, a motorcycle?
So I stopped
I stopped drawing that little triangle on my wrist
Right above my pulse point
But with it
I
Stopped
L I v I n g.
A triangle was supposed to be the strongest shape
It was supposed to make me strong
But I wasn’t even strong enough
To let it stay

See through their souls
And the things they like,
Write like they want to read it.
The writing style that according to them
Shall be successful.
Make it more simple,
More complex,
Whatever they like,
Make it realistic,
Or dreamy,
Happy
Or sad.
Tell a story
They would tell themselves.

My heart was heavy, so I wrote, turned ghosts to words, let poems float. You read, you stayed, you understood—and that alone made bad days good.

So here’s my thanks, a whispered sigh—
I’ll step away, but not goodbye.

She is a dog.                   She is my sister
Your half sister.             We share our trauma
She bites.                        She was neglected
She barks.                       It’s not her fault
She’s dangerous.           Her owner is dangerous
I hate her.                        I love her
She pees on my bed.     My dad locks her in my old room
We are so different.        We are so similar
So far apart.                     So very connected

Blood
Pours
Down
Onto
Skin

Pain
Pain
Pain

I am alive
I am screaming for help
It is silent
Like my cry

Why
Why
Why

I think it’s gotten to the point
Where only poetry can save me