I'm here, but not really.
The walls close in and silence screams.
I fake the smile, play the part,quietly do what I'm required to do...but inside,I'm breaking.
I sleep in a bed that feels too grown,different from sharing a bedroom with my sisters,missing the noise the little whispers and giggles in the dark,now it's warmth and quietness and- a little ache for what it used to be.
in a life that fits like borrowed skin.
Love lives here, I know but sometimes I miss being known
without needing to explain myself and how I am the way I am.
They say I'm lucky,
and I know I am,
but I still miss the way home smelled,
when the rain pounded on the roof
and my mother called my name loudly to go close the windows, and for a second, the sound of her voice drowned out the noise in my head. Just rain, her voice, and a window half open.
Missing the touch I can't have,
the voices I only hear through a screen and glimpses of them on my mind.
Lonely isn't just a word, it's my every day,although I have a good support system I feel empty.
He tries his best, but it's not enough to fill the space
I miss dinners I didn't have to cook,responsibilities I never had
and rooms that remembered my laughter.
Now I stress about what I will make for dinner mybe some potluck and silly me will tuck tears beneath pillowcases.
He's always there for me.
but he doesn't know
I'm still searching for parts of me I left behind.
So yes,
I'm here —
but not really.
YOU ARE READING
Everything I couldn't say
Poetry"There have always been things I couldn't bring myself to say out loud-words that sat in my chest,too heavy, too vulnerable , or being too scared to be heard. In here they have a voice for the quiet parts of me to finally speak without the fear of w...
