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.
