Details |
Angel Robinson Poem
I have a lot of things
I never say.
Not because I don’t have the words,
but because sometimes
the words feel too heavy
to leave my mouth.
So I keep them
behind my teeth,
where they can’t hurt anyone
except me.
I say “I’m fine”
when I’m tired.
I say “it’s okay”
when it isn’t.
I laugh when something hurts
because explaining the pain
feels worse than feeling it.
Sometimes I wonder
how many versions of me
I’ve created
just to make other people comfortable.
The quiet me.
The happy me.
The understanding me.
The one who forgives too quickly.
The one who says
“don’t worry about it”
when I have been worrying
about it for weeks.
But somewhere underneath
all those versions
is a girl who just wants
to be understood
without having to explain
every scar in her heart.
She wants to be loved
without performing for it.
She wants to say
“I’m hurting”
and not feel guilty
for making the room uncomfortable.
Maybe one day
I’ll stop swallowing my feelings
just to keep the peace.
Maybe I’ll finally understand
that my voice
was never too loud.
I was just taught
to whisper.
Copyright © angel robinson | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Angel Robinson Poem
I used to think
growing up meant
knowing who I was.
Like one day
I’d wake up
and everything would make sense.
I’d know what I wanted,
who I loved,
where I belonged,
and why some things
had to hurt so badly.
But I’m learning
that becoming
is not a straight line.
Sometimes I go backward.
Sometimes I outgrow people
I thought I’d know forever.
Sometimes I miss versions of myself
I was so desperate to leave behind.
And sometimes
I look in the mirror
and don’t recognize the girl
looking back.
Not because she’s lost—
because she’s changing.
She’s learning
that not everyone deserves
a front-row seat to her life.
She’s learning
that forgiveness
doesn’t always mean
letting someone back in.
She’s learning
that being soft
doesn’t make her weak.
And maybe that’s what growing up is:
not becoming someone new,
but finally meeting
the parts of yourself
you were too busy surviving
to notice.
I’m still becoming.
Still breaking.
Still healing.
Still figuring it out.
But for once,
I don’t think
I need to have
the ending figured out.
Maybe it’s enough
to know
I’m still here,
and I’m still becoming.
Copyright © angel robinson | Year Posted 2026
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