I talk too much,

because silence feels like disappearing.

Like a shadow lost in cracks,

I’m forgotten before I even speak.

I give everything too fast,

pouring my heart into strangers

I met only minutes ago

and hoping they’ll stay

despite the weight

I drag the broken ones out of fire,

yet no one sees my skin burning too.

I carry their pain with my trembling

hands, which bleed quietly beneath the

layers.I make people laugh,

yet sometimes my words cut deeper than intended

as a shield for my own ache,

and a way to be noticed when I’m invisible.

I’m good with the quiet souls,

because I live where no one else wants to stay.

Always the hero,

never the one to be saved.

Always the clown,

never the audience.

Always the healer,

never the one healed.

I’m the steady shore,

but never the harbor.

The lifeboat that no one reaches for, the calm that

hides a storm inside.And still, I love like a flood, wild, endless,

overflowing,

waiting for the day

someone chooses me first,

not because I begged,

but because I am enough.