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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I think the worst part is that none of it looks big enough to explain why I feel like this. No one points and says, “that’s where it went wrong.” It’s just small things— over and over until they aren’t small anymore. My dad has another family now. I say it like it’s normal, like it doesn’t sit heavy in my mouth. He has new kids, a new life, and I don’t know where I fit in it. I don’t think he forgot me on purpose. I think I just… stopped being included. And somehow that hurts more. Because it means I was easy to leave behind. And at home I tell myself it’s fine too— even when my chest tightens every time Mum’s voice changes, even when I replay what I said trying to figure out what I did wrong this time. It’s always small things. A tone. A look. A question I shouldn’t have asked. And suddenly I’m standing there feeling about five years old, trying to fix something I don’t understand how I broke. She laughs with them— my siblings— like it’s easy. Like love isn’t something you have to be careful around. With me, it feels like I’m always one step away from getting it wrong. So I stopped saying things. Stopped reacting. Stopped needing. Because it’s easier to be quiet than to be too much. And for so long I called that strength. I called it fine. But today when I said it out loud, it didn’t sound true. It sounded like something I’d repeated so many times I forgot to check if I meant it. Because if it was fine, why do I feel this ache in places I can’t explain? Why do I feel like I don’t fully belong anywhere I’m supposed to? I think I learned how to live with it before I learned how to question it. And now I am— and it hurts more than pretending ever did.
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