You make me feel
like I'm everything-
until I start to believe it.

Then you vanish,
and I'm back to wondering
if I ever mattered at all.

I don't need perfect.
I don't need pretty.
I just need real.
And I thought maybe
you'd give me that.

You don't have to love me loud.
But ****-
could you at least stop
dropping hints
and calling them honesty?

Because I show up for you.
Every time.
Even when you don't ask.
Even when it hurts.
And all I want is for you
to want me like that.
No-need me.
Not out of loneliness,
but out of knowing
I'm the one who stays.

I'm not asking you to fix what's broken.
I just wish you'd stop
breaking me
trying to figure out
if you're ready.

If you want me-
say so.
And if you don't...
let me go
before I forget how to stop
holding on.

They say I've changed.
Like that's not the whole **** point.

Like I'm not clawing my way out of
a version of myself
that only knew how to survive
but never how to live.

I've been quiet,
but not because I have nothing to say-
I've just been too busy
trying to unlearn everything I was taught
about being 'enough.'

I used to wear my silence like armor,
but now I'm learning
that sometimes strength
is screaming your name
into rooms that forgot it.

I don't know who I am yet,
but I know who I'm not.
Not my past.
Not theriexpectations.
Not the version of me
that shrinks to fit in.

Some days, I still fall back
into old habits like they miss me.
But even then-
I get back up like I owe it to the kid
who didn't think they'd make it this far.

I've got dreams with bruises.
Goals that scare me.
Scars I still trace when I need proof
that I've healed something.

And no-
I'm not "fine."
I'm unfinished.
But I'm here.
And that has to count
for something.

I smiled like it was stitched there,
like maybe if i faked light,
the dark would forget me.

They called me strong,
but only after watching me break
and not bleed loud enough.

I loved like a house on fire-
burning warmth,
but choking in smoke.

Sometimes, I whisper to mirrors:
"Who saved you when you saved them?"
The silence echoes me.

I carry old versions of myself
like ghosts in my pcoket-
some still cry when the room gets quiet.

And maybe that's the twist:
the softest people
learn to vanish first.

My life is a puzzle with pieces that don't fit,
Corners word down, edges split.
It's quiet in places it used to scream,
And loud in the ruins of every dream.

It's cracked like glass, chipped at the seam,
But it still reflects every hope, every theme.
Some days it sinks, some days it stands-
But even in chaos, it holds out its hands.

My heart? A bruise that still beats true,
A mess of old battles I somehow lived through.
It's not some masterpiece you hang up proud,
But it's mine- still here, still loud.

Little. Broken.
But still....good.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe that's more than it should.

Some days,
it feels like I'm the ghost
in my own life.
Quiet.
Unseen.
Held together
by maybes
and caffeine.

The ones who should've stayed
left marks instead.
And love -
it felt more like
a dare I kept losing.

But still,
I make my bed.
I hum a song I half-remember.
I laugh
at things that aren't funny
just to feel my voice again.

I don't shine big.
Not yet.
But **** it -
I glow.
And that's something.

You loved me quiet,
kept it low -
a secret spot
where no one'd know.

You fed me lines,
then cut the string,
left me hanging
on everything.

I made you light
when you were smoke,
I held on tight
and nearly choked.

You let me fall
without a sound -
and still, I hoped
you'd turn around.

But love like that?
it doesn't stay.
It fades like you -
just walks away.

I've stopped trying to make sense of anything.
The vibes are weird,
my charger's missing,
and I think I cried over a bagel this morning.

Growth?
Yeah, I guess.
I didn't text back my ex today.
That's something.

My goals are ambitious:
Eat breakfast,
drink water,
and not emotionally spiral before noon.

I keep saying "it is what it is,"
but I have no clue what "it" is
or why it's so dramatic all the time.

I tried journaling.
Wrote "I'm tired" seventeen times
and called it a breakthrough.

People say "be present,"
but I left my focus in 2019
next to my sense of stability and charger cube.

Some days I feel unstoppable.
Other days I stare at the wall
like it's got answers.

I'm not winning,
but I'm not losing either.
I'm just....here.

Breathing.
Sort of thriving.
Accidentally funny.

Which honestly,
is the most relatable thing I've ever been.