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lizie May 29
my name was just letters
until you said it,
soft, certain,
like it belonged to someone worth holding.
you gave it weight,
a kind of beauty
i never saw alone,
until you spoke it,
and it became yours.
lizie May 28
i hurt people who love me,
i lie to stay afloat.
i say i’m fine
when i’m folding in on myself.
i miss him,
even when i shouldn’t.
i want too much.
i disappear.
i think i’m a bad person.
maybe i am.
maybe i’m not.
either way,
i can’t seem to stop.
lizie May 28
i can’t hold your hand,
but i’m holding the thought of you,
hoping it’s enough
to steady you
through the ache.
lizie May 28
by answering messages
i shouldn’t
and hoping for things
i can’t have.
lizie May 28
i told them i was tired.
they said “get some sleep.”
but i didn’t mean
tired like that.
i meant tired
like i don’t want to be alive.
but no one
heard me.
lizie May 27
i tell my mom i’m fine
with a smile that tastes like rust.
every “i’m okay”
tightens something in my chest.

i nod in therapy
when she asks if the thoughts are gone.
they’re not.
but i’m tired of proving i’m hurting.

i say i haven’t talked to you,
and maybe that’s true
if you don’t count dreams,
or the poems you still live in.

i used to think lying
was a way to keep the peace.
but now it just feels
like bleeding beneath a bandaid.

and i don’t want to lie anymore.
not to her.
not to them.
not to myself.
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