i read your poem.
even though it made my heart hurt,
it’s nice to know you
don’t hate me.
i don’t think.

it’s funny,
10 things i hate about you
is one of my favorite movies.
so many people say
that i look like the lead.

i wonder if you read my poems.
if you analyze them
they way that i analyze yours.
i wonder if you try to keep up
or if it hurts too bad.
believe me,
it hurts.

it’s almost two weeks
on my medicine,
and i feel no different.
i guess that’s expected
but i’m just tired
of nothing changing.

i have therapy tomorrow.
i’m already dreading it.
she kept saying
“promote awareness”
as if i didn’t know
she was reading off a script.

dad had tears in his eyes
when mom told him i had cut again
he doesn’t cry
not really
not unless something’s falling apart
and this time
it was me

he said why
again and again
like the question could fix it
like i could fix it
but i just stared
felt the words press against my throat
and stay there
tight
screaming
quiet

so i said
i can’t just stop being sad
and that’s all
because it’s the only truth i had

mom gave him a look
like don’t push her
she’s already broken
already bleeding
already tired of explaining
what can’t be
explained

and then
she hugged me
really hugged me
like she didn’t care
that she hates hugs
held me
like she wanted
to keep me here
keep me whole
even if she couldn’t

and she said
we know
like it meant something
like knowing was enough

and maybe
for a moment
i
believed
it

why do some people feel so sad?
why am i one of those people?

i miss people who are still alive,
and i don’t know what that means.

one sits next to me in class,
another a row behind me,
and one living in another state.
they all feel equally far.

the door didn’t slam,
they just stopped knocking,
while i keep mine open,
just in case they remembered where i live.

i see their faces in pictures
and flinch like it’s a memory.
they look happy.
they look happier than when they were with me.

maybe i’m too easy to forget,
or too hard to keep.
i can’t determine
if i’m too much or too little.

they laugh with other people,
not cruelly—just without me.
and i tell myself that’s okay,
but i still search for my name in their smile.

i miss people who are still alive,
and it feels like i’m mourning
something everyone else insists is fine.
i suffer in a silence only i can hear.

i know what absence is,
it’s in the spaces
they used to fill
without even trying.

i tell myself you weren’t that kind,
not really.
not the way i remember.
maybe i just needed you
to be more than you were.
i practice unlearning you,
every day.
but then
i look at you
and every lie i rehearsed
falls apart in my mouth.
you still ruin me,
just by existing.

i had my last ap exam today.
i did a good job,
not like you care.
and then afterward we went out to eat
i got fettuccine alfredo,
no shrimp though.

i did that band leadership interview too.
i didn’t see your name
on the list.
my interview went well,
doc gushed about my talent,
i liked that.

mom made me give up
all the knives
and pocket knives i’ve collected.
but what she doesn’t know
is that i still have the pencil sharpener.
i won’t use it though.

it’s already been a week
of these so-called happy pills,
i don’t feel any different.
i wish i would.
or i wish i felt
nothing at all.
either or.

i keep telling myself
it only hurts this much right now.
but i think
i’ll be getting over you
my whole life.
i’m tired.
are you?

a month ago
i thought of something
i wanted to tell you
while “the manuscript” played.

but it slipped away
before i could catch it.

today,
same song,
same road,
it came back.

i didn’t say it.
i just drove.

neat red lines
stacked in a column
on my upper thigh.
i remember how you
flinched
when you saw them.
it’s disgusting
but it’s me.

i could’ve skipped the pill.
no one would’ve known.
but i swallowed it anyway,
for my mom,
who cried with me,
for my dad,
who doesn’t always know what to say,
for my sisters,
who still need me around.

for me,
even if i’m not ready to admit it yet.

i smile,
and sometimes i almost mean it.
most times,
i don’t.
i wonder if they notice
how tightly it’s stitched on,
this grin
i wear like armor.

it drains me,
faking light
when all i carry
is the weight
of everything i can’t say.
my body rots quietly,
while my voice plays pretend.

every laugh is a wince,
every joke a plea.
“you’re the sunshine,”
they tell me.
but storms don’t shine,
and i’ve been thunder
for years.

i don’t want
to keep writing these,
especially not to you,
but it’s kind of
an easy way
to let my feelings out.
hope that’s okay.

you don’t gotta read them,
of course,
i don’t even know if you do.
doesn’t really change much
i don’t think.
unless you think it does.

i’m real nervous for my
ap u.s. exam tomorrow.
but then afterwards
the jazz band field trip
to rehoboth
will be real fun.
if i’m not sad the whole time.

i’ve got more pain in my neck.
i don’t know why,
i don’t feel sick anymore.
it kind of makes everything
feel so much harder
than it already is.

i had to get blood drawn today.
it took me back to last year
when i got blood drawn
and i passed out.
but you were there to comfort me.
this time, i didn’t pass out,
even though i was really close.
and you weren’t there.

i hate it when
i’m playing my music,
my dex solos or something,
and then the music has to stop.
because it all does eventually.
i hate that.

it’s the kind of sad
that doesn’t cry loud.
it just sits,
quietly,
in the corners of the room,
curling into the shadows
until even the light
feels heavy.

the kind of sad
where you can’t tell
if you’re tired
or just empty.
if you’re lonely
or just lost.
where music doesn’t help,
but silence hurts more.

it’s the kind of sad
that doesn’t need a reason.
just wakes up with you,
sits beside you on the train,
follows you into class,
and climbs into your bed
before you can even
close your eyes.

it’s the kind of sad
where you drive in the car
and you think you’re okay
until you hear the music
and burst out into tears.
for no reason.

and you want to talk about it.
but what do you say?
“i’m sad,”
like it’s news?
like it hasn’t made
a home in your bones already?
like it hasn’t decorated
your ribs
with every memory
you swore you were over?

it’s the kind of sad
that makes you ache
for people who aren’t coming back,
for versions of yourself
you barely remember.
for a feeling that used to be yours
before everything got
so heavy.

but still,
somehow,
you keep going.
even when it hurts.
especially when it hurts.
and that matters,
even if no one sees it,
though you wish someone would.

okay but my world still fell apart
so you didn’t help with that.
you didn’t stand
between me and the cliff,
you pushed me towards it.

you can’t say i quieted your voice
because that’s all i wanted to hear,
remember?
i didn’t say you held me back.
no, you held me here.
but no that’s okay.
maybe i’ll get over that one day.
i’ll just add it to the list.

is that only how you see me?
broken?
hurt?
fragile?
self destructive?
i mean,
you’re probably right.
but i do try to have more substance,
i try to do things
that make me happy,
even if it feels impossible.

and sure,
just impose your senseless ideologies
upon my vulnerable mind,
and then tell me they aren’t good
but don’t tell me how to fix them.
it’s not your fault though,
sorry.

maybe it doesn’t matter
how you see me anymore.
maybe it never did.
sorry,
these are just my rambling thoughts.
don’t take them to heart,
except for the ones you should.

it’s funny how
you’re at your highest
and i’m at my lowest.
it’s okay,
if this is the price to pay,
it’s okay.
i deserve it,
you deserve happiness,
and all that other *******
you know i believe
but i’m too tired to say.
i’m just really sad.
not about this situation in particular,
but all the spaces,
in between,
inside,
every pore of my being.
but no i’m happy for you,
i really truly am.

sorry for all the things i’ve said
about hatred and stuff.
feelings don’t make sense anymore.
i heard you sent screenshots
of our conversations
to cooper,
and i don’t know who else.

i only wrote those things
because you hadn’t been active
on hello poetry.
i thought you were done.
maybe you will be,
i should stop checking.

i’m glad you’re doing better than me.
it’s not hard though,
when your competition
is only still alive
because of a stupid pinky promise
to her mom.

i think i’m gonna
skip some school tomorrow.
i have another doctor’s appointment,
and my mom has off
so we’re gonna hang out a little.
it was her idea,
probably because her child
wants to die.

i’m sitting in the wawa parking lot
because it’s too early
to go in for my shift.
so i’ll just sit here.
have a good practice,
or a bad one,
i don’t know
if i’m allowed to care anymore.

i don’t like
how i unfollowed you
on everything:
insta, snapchat, tiktok, whatever.
but you still follow me.
i don’t like that.

i still check up on
when you were last active,
or if you reposted something new.
i have to check
that you’re still alive
now that you don’t
write poems anymore.

everyone looks at me
with disappointment
and accusations in their eyes.
it’s okay, i deserve it.
your eyes haven’t
looked at me yet,
but soon they will.

i’m 2:21 minutes into
transcribing dexter gordon’s
body and soul.
i was gonna give up on it,
but then i pictured
you being proud
of me finishing it.

i wish i wasn’t like this
anymore.
you know that though.
i’d rather you break my heart
than me have to do all the breaking.
i mean,
you have though.

i forgot you wouldn’t
be in class today
because of your
ap human geography exam.
i hope you feel good
about how it went.

i never would’ve told you this,
but i think that class is stupid.
or, it sounds stupid.
but that’s just
what i think.
and even though i say i am,
i’m usually never right.

had my first day
of training at wawa today.
i made some drinks.
i’m still thinking about
that milkshake i promised you.
ugh.

i’ve been thinking about
why everything feels so much harder
now that i’m getting help.
i feel so broken,
so unstable,
so vulnerable.

i think it’s because
i’m finally getting that help
we always talked about
but i still feel the exact same.
or maybe
it’s because i’m exposed,
and i don’t like that.