they think i’m the light
because i smile in crowded rooms
and laugh like nothing’s heavy.
but they don’t see how i carry myself home,
quiet and cracked at the seams.

they think i’m too bright
to belong to shadows,
too warm to understand cold.
they don’t know i keep my coat zipped tight
because winter lives inside me too.

they talk about who i sit with,
like i’m some saint with a healing touch.
but maybe i’m tired
of being the lighthouse
when the waves are drowning me too.