Email Poem

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Poem
some days, it feels like i’m drowning in air,  
the kind of breath that scrapes your lungs raw,   
and i wonder if i’ll ever remember how it felt  
to be anything other than tired of existing.  

i see people move through life like it’s easy,  
like there’s a script i never learned,   
and i’m a spectator in my own skin,  
watching my hands go through motions  
i don’t feel, saying words i barely hear.  

they think they know me—  
they don’t see the hollow inside,  
the parts of me that feel unfinished,  
the places where i keep my distance,  
where i smile, nod, say the right things,  
and none of it reaches the ache underneath.  

there’s a darkness so sharp it’s nauseating,  
a noise in my head like static, like screaming,  
like everything inside wants to claw its way out,  
and i am quiet, always quiet,  
while the pain drowns me in silence.  

i don’t know how to touch happiness anymore,  
or even sorrow, not the real kind,  
just this numb ache, this emptiness  
where i should feel something, anything—  
but it’s all lost, slipping through fingers  
i barely believe are mine.  

sometimes i wonder if i’m a person at all  
or just a cracked shell pretending,   
and it hurts, god, it hurts,  
because i am so close to everyone  
and yet a thousand miles from myself,   
no warmth, no sympathy, no empathy,  
just this empty performance  
that i can’t remember how to stop.  

and no one sees it—the way i’m slipping,  
how existing feels like a weight i can’t carry,  
how every day tastes a little more bitter,  
how every hour feels just a little further  
from where i thought life would be.  

i am here but i’m not here,  
a shadow with a voice, a ghost with hands,  
and i wonder if anyone could ever  
look past the mask long enough  
to see the silence tearing me apart  
from the inside out.
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