Put on right out of the womb, a crown was placed on her head
5 diamonds are placed to represent each burden
Perfection
Therapist
Extra parent
No remembrance of her childhood
And giving when there's nothing left to give
As the years go on, she will make mistakes
Hers being the hardest to forgive
She will take the pain and burdens of the ones who brought her into this world and others without a second of hesitation and still feel as if she is not enough
She will me extraordinarily mature for her conquest asked of her
But not nearly mature enough for what she wants
She will put every person before her
But when she does something for herself, she's called selfish and lazy
She surrounds herself with books to take her to a place that expects nothing but the flip of a page
Countless times,
She will compare herself to others
She will stay up late working on that paper to get extra points just to please her parents
She will have impossible expectations to meet
Do you know who she is?
She's the eldest daughter
She won't want to have kids for the fear of putting her oldest through the same pain
But most of all, she won't get what she craves the most
Unconditional love

Help me!!!!!,
I have fallen, and
I can't get up!!!,
these burdens are
heavy, and I have just
had enough,
things have gotten
hectic, and things
are getting tough,
these rugged
mountains are rocky,
climbing on
them is getting rough,
I feel like I am Falling,
please catch me if you can,
lift my soul and my spirits, and
please help me to stand,
feed me some knowledge, and
please Help me to Understand,
give me some Inspiration,
so that I can Comprehend,
I have fallen to the ground,
So please lend me your hand!!!


B.R.
Date: 4/17/2025

Written by tge hands if pain,
Thr decaying corpse of your being,
The kind that makes you wonder
Why you weren't enough.

Love is not soft life the movies, or even how your mom tells you as you fall asleep as a young child.
love pushes past all your limits not caring how much it will destroy you, love basks in your pain.
cupid is a cruel man, that evil bow of his stabbing and twisting deep inside you.... yet you welcome it, you want it to strike you, hoping it will let someone love you the way you think love is.
but it never does.... it's never the right one, or the right time.
anything and everything trying to stop you, well cupid laughs in your face.
your mother never tells you how loving someone who doesn't love you back will ******* destroy you.... there is nothing like it.
the nights you spend hoping that one day they'll look at you even just a little how you look at them.
you spend hours ripping yourself apart because they so easily make you feel like not enough, probably oblivious to all of it because they don't care, they never did, and never will.
so now you live though some small fragments of who you used to be, hoping that one day everything will go back to normal and you can forget them and what they did to you.
but love doesn't work like that, it's wired in a way where you'll never forget.
love scars so deep yet so easily.
before you can even exhale you've fallen so far down that it feel's like your going to suffocate.
love is not dancing in the clouds, or singing in the rain, it's not falling asleep in the arms of comfort.
it's stabbing, and wounds.... blood dripping from parts of yourself you didn't even know existed, it's crying and crying and crying because you aren't enough in the eyes of the person you worship.
it's drowning out yourself just to hear their voice.
it's becoming a shadow and distant reflection of who you used to be, with their initials engraved on the marrow of your hallowed out bones.  
love is not soft and beautiful like an early morning breeze.
it's so close to death, but you never really truly end the suffering and die.

My shoulders are burdened
by the weight of all the lives I'm living.
My head hurts because my neck
supports all the people I’ve become.
Laden with hats, my hair hides
underneath the tokens of every job I do.
Deep within, I still fear that this is not enough.
Will it ever be enough?

I’m too much.
I’ve heard it in every sigh,
seen it in every glance that lingers just a second too long—
the weight of me suffocating the space between us.

I ask for too much,
but it never feels like it.
I don’t ask for the world,
just the bare minimum:
A little attention. A little care.
A little proof that I matter.

But somehow, even that’s too heavy.
Too big. Too loud.

I’ve learned to bite my tongue,
to shrink myself down to something easier to swallow.
Soft-spoken. Simple. Small.
An echo of who I was,
because maybe then,
I’ll be easier to love.

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I’m always too needy,
too messy,
too complicated.
The kind of person you put up with,
but never choose.
The kind of person you forget as soon as the door closes.

I feel it every time I reach out,
fingers trembling in the dark,
hoping someone will hold on—
only to find the emptiness waiting for me again.

I want to scream,
“I don’t want much!”
Just to feel seen.
Just to not be forgotten.
Just to be the kind of person who matters to someone—
even for a little while.

But I’ve learned how this goes.
I ask,
and I become too much.
I stay quiet,
and I become invisible.

Caught somewhere between being too heavy to carry
and too easy to leave behind.

So, I sit with the weight of it.
The loneliness.
The ache that tells me I’ve always been replaceable.
A body that takes up space
but never quite fits anywhere.

And the worst part?
I still keep hoping.
Still keep waiting for someone to see me
and not run.

Even though I know they will.

They always do.

You are lovely
like birds in winter,
a rare sight when the world has turned its
back.
When solitude slips into
loneliness,
and the echo of forgotten places
becomes a silence so loud
it deafens—
you.
You shouldn’t be here,
but you are.
Fragile and feathered,
defying the dying world
with every beat of your wings.

I’ve shrunk myself before,
folded into corners,
but you—
you are smaller still,
yet somehow
you stand taller than the frozen trees.
You sing in the biting cold,
pirouette on the barren branches,
murmur in the bleakest of skies.

Unshaken by the darkest days,
you’re here to remind me
that something in me is, too.
No matter how dark,
no matter how cold,
no matter how dead it all seems—
there’s always something flying,
something singing,
something alive
in that desolate stretch.

It may seem
small

but,

it’s enough.

Everyone has limits.
It's okay if you've reached yours.
You can close any doors
you've opened.
No matter what people say,
you've got nothing to prove.
Just take life day by day, and someday, you'll find your groove.
I'm not saying it will be easy.
In fact, you'll probably
have some scars.
But if you're going to make it, it'll be because you believe in yourself and trust that you ARE enough