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not just names that fade when it’s convenient,

not just laughter shared in hallways

and silence when it mattered most.

I thought we were “us,”

something real, something chosen,

not a role you could swap out

like it never meant a thing.

But you moved on so easily—

like I was a page you finished reading,

folded, forgotten,

left on the floor with the rest.

And I stayed,

wondering what part of me

was so replaceable

in a story I thought we were writing together.

Maybe I imagined it deeper than you did.

Maybe I gave too much meaning

to something you treated as temporary.

Still… it hurts

to realize I wasn’t irreplaceable—

I won’t feel so far away from myself,

like I’m always standing behind glass

watching everyone else be real.

Maybe in another life,

I’ll say the things I swallow here,

without fear turning my voice

into something small and quiet.

Maybe in another life,

I’ll be softer with my own name,

instead of turning it into a question

I’m too tired to answer.

Maybe in another life,

I’ll bloom without asking permission,

without counting every flaw

like it’s a reason to disappear.

And maybe—just maybe—

in this one, I’m still becoming,

still learning how to stay

when everything in me wants to run.

So if not in this life,

then maybe in another…

but for now, I’ll try

Rich like she never checks the price tag,

pretty like the camera already loves her,

smart like answers just fall into her hands

without staying up late, stressing, overthinking.

She walks in like life is easy mode,

like everything just opens for her.

And I’m here wondering why I can’t be

that version of “effortless” too.

Ohh I wish I was her…

with the glow, the confidence, the whole package,

like she was born with all the right answers

while I’m still figuring out the questions.

But still… I’m me.

Even if I don’t feel like her,

I stare at mirrors, look away fast,

Trying to hide from the girl in the glass.

Her eyes look tired, her smile feels fake,

Like she’s one more breath from starting to break.

I don’t wanna be me anymore,

Don’t wanna carry this heart so sore.

I wanna peel my skin off like art,

And trade this heavy, aching heart.

Everyone says, “you’ll be okay,”

But they don’t hear the thoughts that stay.

The quiet battles, the silent cries,

The storm that lives behind my eyes.

Maybe one day I’ll learn to see

Something worth loving inside of me.

But tonight I’m just a soul so torn,

Wishing I was someone reborn. 💔

I am the question I can’t escape,

a voice that changes shape by day and night,

sometimes loud like thunder in my chest,

sometimes soft like fading streetlight.

Who am I?

A name I wear but don’t fully know,

a story still writing itself in ink that won’t stay still,

pages turning even when I’m not ready to let go.

Who am I?

The laugh I give when I’m not okay,

the silence I keep when words won’t come out right,

the part of me that hopes anyway

even when hope feels too heavy to hold tight.

Who am I?

Maybe I’m not one answer, one face, one line—

maybe I’m a thousand small pieces learning how to align.

Still becoming.

Still unsure.

Still here.

She’s just a girl,

with quiet storms behind her eyes,

smiling like nothing hurts

while everything inside her cries.

She’s just a girl,

learning how to be strong too soon,

counting all her broken thoughts

like stars around the moon.

She’s just a girl,

who loved a little too deep,

giving pieces of her heart

she never got to keep.

She’s just a girl,

walking through the rain alone,

pretending she’s okay

when she’s barely holding on her own.

She’s just a girl…

but even shattered, she still shines—

not because she’s perfect,

but because she survives. 💔