They cheered for them—
moms with cameras, dads with proud eyes—
I stood alone,
four medals in my hands,
three gold, one silver,
like they meant something.

I ran fast today.
I always do.
People say it’s talent.
My stepmom says
it’s because I like running from my problems.
She laughs when she says it.

She doesn’t know—
I run
because when I run,
the pain stays behind
for a while.

No blades.
No pills.
Just breath and burning legs
and the sound of my heart
trying to beat louder than the thoughts.

I crossed every line first
but still came last
in the only race that mattered—
the one where someone waits
at the end.

Sometimes I wonder
what it would feel like
to look into the crowd
and see someone who looks like love.
To have someone call my name
like it meant home.
I wish I had that kind of family—
the kind you don’t have to earn.