Post #4384533

Here's a poem I wrote when I was 16 Their eyes are empty, as though they’ve forgotten what it feels like to shine. Their body moves. Their heart still beats. Their lungs still fill with air. But somewhere, without anyone noticing, something inside them went quiet. They stand alone. Not because they want to, but because no one ever stayed long enough to stand beside them. They carry more than anyone realizes. They’ve become so good at hiding the weight that people mistake their silence for strength. They are alive, but only because their body keeps going. They are a shell of the person they used to be. Their eyes drift to places no one else can see. Their body is here, but their mind keeps wandering through memories that refuse to let go. They answer questions. They laugh when everyone else laughs. They remember birthdays. They apologize for things that were never their fault. Most people would never notice. To everyone else, they’re just another person getting through the day. But surviving has never felt the same as living. They still remember the classroom. The way the room filled with laughter after they answered too quietly. The way someone copied their voice, stretching every word until everyone else joined in. They remember staring at the desk, following the scratches in the wood with their fingertips, counting them over and over, trying to make it to the final bell without crying. No teacher stopped it. No classmate said anything. Maybe someone noticed. No one cared enough to change it. Being different made them an easy target. So they learned to speak less. To stay smaller. To disappear before someone else could remind them they didn’t belong. Even the mirror became another voice telling them they weren’t enough. Every flaw seemed impossible to ignore. Every reflection felt like proof that something must be wrong. Childhood slipped away while everyone else was making memories. They were learning how to survive. Loneliness didn’t arrive all at once. It settled quietly, until one day it felt familiar. Now the child they used to be still waits somewhere inside. Still hoping someone might notice. Still hoping someone might stay. Still wondering what it feels like to be enough without having to earn it. Morning comes. They get dressed. They answer messages. They smile when they’re expected to. They say, “I’m fine.” And the world believes them. The days keep passing. So do they. No one sees how much energy it takes to hold together something that has been falling apart for years.