The cold has a memory —
it lingers in the corners of empty rooms,
settles into the spaces you once filled.

No matter how many layers I wear,
it finds a way to my skin,
a whisper of what used to be warmth.

The windows rattle,
the floor sighs under footsteps that aren’t yours,
and I tell myself it’s just the season.

But the truth is,
it’s not the winter that chills me —
it’s the memory of you.

I found you
holding torn poems
like broken wings
telling me
you forgot the key
behind a locked room.

So I sat
on the cracked floor
beside you
and built a map
out of sighs
and stubborn hope.

You don’t need a perfect way out—
just a beginning
even if it looks hopeless
like more hurting.

I gave you my shoulder
the way
rain gives the earth a second chance
the way light waits
beside your door.

And when you can’t believe—
I'll believe twice as hard
with hopeful charm
and hopeless stubbornness.

Through your side
you’ll find the door—
you will.

I used to be fine.
But, you broke me.
I was tough.
But, you made me weak.

These metaphorical scar’s haunt me,
Leaving its bitter trails in my heart.
At every corner of my mind,
it waits for the perfect moment.
The moment to stab me.

I try,
but, they won’t see it,
they won’t care.

I’m drowning in pain,
while all they see is a smile.
They watch me burn.
They let me suffer.

When light shines on me,
I must smile and laugh.
But as nighttime comes,
I am free to sob into my pillow.

At night, I am free to be sad,
to feel all the different things I hide.
If they notice,
I cannot tell.

If they see through me,
then they just don’t seem to care.
I just wish to have support.
They took my life away from me,
and burned it to ashes.

I wish to be free,
to be happy.
But, they stabbed my heart,
there were only shreds left.

I am forced to call you family,
Even against my will.
I will forever hate you,
even if you are my parents.