Poetry

this is for all of the invisible people

you are seen

and you are loved

I don't know who needs to hear this today, but

you are enough and you are loved

:)

            Hey, I know it’s been a while, but my grandparents still ask about you and I still remember your birthday. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m still holding onto the pieces I have left of you. 

When I was small,

the sky was a storybook—

every page dotted with stars

too many to count,

each one whispering my name.

But now the nights glow

with lights that never sleep.

Her blood is engraved into these pages

Slowly unraveling the truth

Exposing every flaw in perfection

Every short-lived high

Every precocious low

Has driven the knife deeper into her lingering past

the numbers scream

I’m not enough

I’m not enough

I’m not enough

we are not composed of numbers

so why do we let them define us?

Life is 

meant to be lived 

fully and completely. 

You need to commit. 

Fully. 

You aren’t meant to dip one toe in from the edge. 

You’re meant to dive in 

Past the burning day, 

at bedtime when I shrug off sleep, 

when I've got school the next morning, and I shouldn't be here, 

Instead of studying for the test

that I completely forgot about,

that is first period tomorrow morning,

I'm going to write a poem.

Because what else would I do? Study?

Hell no.

Let's be serious here.

The stars are reflected in the glimmer of the headlamp's light on the snow

And the air is frozen-- it feels like the sensation of holding your hand under water so burning hot that

it begins to feel cold

somehow.

There’s a lot I wanted to do,

but somehow my feet stayed still.

Days slipped through my fingers

like sand I forgot to hold.

People ask where I’ve been—

I tell them I’m “fine,”

living in a city I built

I never like the face I meet

when morning drags me from my sheets.

The mirror shows a version

that I swear I never chose—

tired eyes, heavy lines,

a stranger wearing all my clothes.