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Summer Grandpre Poem
They do not see me,
only numbers,
a mind wrapped in accolades,
a vessel of knowledge,
but never a soul.
What I do beyond the classroom
is dust in the wind,
unnoticed, unworthy,
a shadow cast by my own intellect.
My mind,
a magnet for praise,
a curse to myself.
neglect my suffering,
worship my GPA.
Scorn my exhaustion,
demand I excel.
Work. Work. Work. Work.
Run faster, push harder,
outshine the one behind,
outdo the one ahead.
Break the cycle.
Be first.
Full ride, perfect score,
rewrite the past in brighter ink.
Don’t be her. Be better.
Don’t compare. But compare.
Lead, but follow.
Stand out, but fit in.
A never-ending tug-of-war,
and when the rope snaps,
I stand alone.
Dangling between purpose and place,
the misplaced piece in a puzzle
that never had a space for me.
In a world of patterns,
I am the outlier, the inconsistency,
the contradiction wrapped in expectation.
My mind—a battlefield,
truth and acceptance at war,
the lines blurred,
the victor unknown.
All I know is that each battle
leaves me emptier
than the last.
Copyright © Summer Grandpre | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Summer Grandpre Poem
How far must I go for love?
How much of myself must I erase
before I am worthy of staying?
I love you more than I love myself.
Is that enough? No.
I'll be better.
Skinnier, prettier, quieter,
a reflection of what you desire,
not what I am.
Is this love?
Do I even know what love is?
Should it leave me hollow
when you inevitably go?
If love is real, should it ache like this?
Should it make me feel like a body,
a shell, a desperate reaching hand?
Is it love, or anxious attachment?
Will you leave if I ask too much?
If I speak too loudly?
If I am too much of myself?
I hold onto every scrap of affection,
a touch, a glance, a lingering word,
proof that, for now, I am not alone.
That, for a moment, I exist to you.
I shrink myself, fold into quiet spaces,
make myself small enough to fit
inside the cracks of your indifference.
I rewrite my laughter, soften my voice,
trim the edges of my thoughts
until they no longer cut too deep.
Will I ever be enough to make you stay?
Or am I destined to be temporary,
a fleeting thought, a half-forgotten dream?
I have spent years learning to be less,
but even in my smallest form,
I am still too much.
Do I deserve love, or only the pieces I beg for?
Will my life always mirror the way I see myself,
fractured, incomplete, unworthy?
Or am I chasing a ghost,
calling out for a love that does not exist,
at least, not for me?
I tell myself to stop waiting,
to stop shaping myself into something
that might finally be enough.
But how do you unlearn a hunger
that has always gone unfed?
How do you convince yourself
that you are worthy of love
when love has never known your name?
Copyright © Summer Grandpre | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Summer Grandpre Poem
The unseen ache,
the hollow feeling of being unseen.
To loathe each fragment of yourself,
a puzzle with no hands to mend it.
Like shattered glass filled to the brim,
spilling, cracking, never whole.
Distraction is a bandage too thin,
but the wound waits, watching.
Sometimes, I wonder if I was better off staying,
where thinness was a cruel kind of prize.
Mental health aside, at least I’d be desired,
a shadow worth glancing at.
Always the one overlooked,
a whisper lost beneath perfection.
Reaching for something just beyond my grasp,
a dream dissolving like mist.
They see laziness, neglect, a choice,
never the war beneath my skin.
They will never understand
that the battle I face is with
The Enemy Within.
It lurks in mirrors, in empty plates,
in numbers that shrink but never satisfy.
A voice laced with poison, yet familiar,
pulling me deeper, demanding more.
It tells me hunger is power,
that fragility is beauty,
that suffering is the price of being seen.
I listen, I fight, I fall—
but still, I rise.
Will I ever break free?
Or am I destined to dance
on the edge of control and collapse,
forever caught between ruin and release?
Yet, somewhere in the silence,
a whisper of hope lingers—
soft, fragile, but real.
Perhaps, one day, I will hear it clearly.
Perhaps, one day, I will listen.
Copyright © Summer Grandpre | Year Posted 2025
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