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It becomes about you

And so I just listen

I’m told it is okay if I want to struggle in silence.

Little do you know, in the silence is where I lose myself.

Silence breaks me.

Silence becomes the unlimited pit of loneliness.

It is not okay.

when I become distant, is when I’ve completely lost myself.

All because I struggled in silence.

-insert sad poem here-

TW

Poem written by me.

“Porcelain Throne”

Don’t tell me I’m strong when all I ache for is wrong.

This fight in me —most recently—has you mainly fooled.

You call me brave while I break beneath routine,

whilst this mask I wear has started to come unglued.

The warrior you think I am is curled up — not standing tall.

She’s not fearless but fetal, crumbling against the bathroom wall.

White ceramic knows my weight,

knows the sobs that echo late,

the bruise I hide beneath my sleeve,

and knows the wrist I never let breathe.

She’s jaded.

She’s wearied.

She’s been mighty for far too long.

And no one’s stopped

to see the cloak —

the threadbare kind

unseen through unless you choke.

These wounds don’t close.

They memorize me.

The old ones harrow,

the new ones tease —

a scratch, a scrape, a self on self quarrel,

a soothing release, just a reason I could feel at peace.

For seconds.

Maybe less.

’Til shame sets in like derivative skin,

and the silence settles boundlessly innards my chest.

I kneel before the porcelain queen,

not to beg,

but to be emptied clean.

To punish the body I no longer claim —

consequently where trauma touched and left its name.

the body heaves like ocean waves, and never-lands stars twinkles like crystals

I hide the blade in subtle ways:

in fingernails, in broken rings,

in showers where I scrub too raw,

in “accidents” that sting.

You won’t see lines,

just stories untold,

written in places

I keep cold.

I skip meals like I skip memories —

quietly, ritualistically.

As if thinning out

could thin the pain,

as if my vanishing

might cleanse the stain.

Because there was a time

I wasn’t touched gently.

Hands meant to hold

instead hollowed me out.

Now I flinch at kindness,

trust feels violent —

and when I eat,

it’s like I’m letting them in again.

Control is my religion now.

Sharp edges, empty plates —

a twisted prayer I whisper late,

while I float

between want and hate.

You see a girl with fight in her chest.

I see a child

begging for rest.

No lullabies, no mother’s kiss,

just the taste of iron,

the echo of fists.

I broke an oath

no one else could hear.

To stay alive,

but never near.

To bleed in places that leave no trace —

to swallow screams,

to vanish with grace.

But don’t you dare say I’m strong

just because I’m still here.

Existing is not living

when you’re constantly in fear.

I’ve mastered the art of smiling wide

while crumbling beneath the tide —

a fragile girl, a silent plea,

a scream dressed up