I made myself smaller
just to be kept by you—
softened my footsteps,
quieted my opinions,
shrunk myself
so you wouldn’t have to feel me
in the palm of your hand.

so you wouldn’t have to try.
wouldn’t have to work
to keep me around.

I let go of everything
that made me who I was—
every loud quirk,
every sharp edge,
every piece of color
I used to carry with pride.

I held my breath
so long
I forgot the feeling
of being a person.

forgot what it meant
to be real.
to have needs.
to feel things
out loud.

I drowned in my own thoughts,
because I forbid myself
from speaking them.
I tore myself to pieces
trying to be enough—
or maybe
just trying to be so small,
so weightless,
so easy,
you’d forget you lost interest
and keep me
a little longer.

I tiptoed around truth,
stopped saying how I felt,
stopped trying to help you.

I knew
I couldn’t change you—
so I destroyed myself
trying to change
for you.

I whittled myself down
to a speck.
a whisper
of who I used to be.

I started saying everything
you wanted to hear,
because I didn’t think
you liked me enough
to fight for better—
for us.
for me.

and you didn’t.

so all that time
I spent ripping myself to shreds,
hiding every fiber
of what made me me—
you let go of me
anyway.

when you opened your hand,
I held on
as tight as I could.

I held on
so you wouldn’t have to.
I held on
for both of us.

but my arms
grew tired.
my bones—
fragile.
my body—
too broken
to carry the weight alone.

you were stronger.
you always were.

and I died
giving all my strength
to you.

I handed you my heart
on a silver platter.
you let me go,
but you never let it go.
you still carry it.
even now.

I gave everything
until I was
nothing—
too weak
to find myself again,
covered in scars
from the places
I tore myself apart.

and you—
you walked away
with a boosted ego
and pieces of me
you never deserved.