Book
Just because I write poetry doesn’t means all you can read it, even though you probably have heard it on repeat on videos I post online.
You’ll never know the true meaning behind it or if I wrote it with tears pouring down my face, because in reality you can’t read pass the facade of my skin.
I’m more than my appearance, that is something you can’t see. I’m greater than the words I cut on paper.
You think you know me from the words I spill, but you miss the ache behind every syllable.
I hide myself in metaphors, buried in lines, because exposing the truth means crossing the signs.
And yet, my voice is just a whisper in the crowd, they hear what they want, see what they choose, judging my strength by what I refuse to lose.
Each verse is a fragment of my soul, a piece of the puzzle you’ll never complete.
You see the lines, the rhythms, the rhymes, but you overlook the scars and the healing behind each line I write.
I pour my heart onto the page, a quiet rebellion against the noise, hoping someone, someday will truly listen.
But in a world filled with loud voices and quick judgments, my whispers often drown beneath the clamor.
So I write, not just to be heard, but to create a space where my truth can exist, free from the constraints of perception.
I will continue to weave my emotions into words, to hide my essence in metaphors, because even in the shadows, it’s mine.
And perhaps, one day, someone will look beyond the facade, beyond the surface, and discover the depth of the heart that beats behind the ink.
Alone, not lonely.
“Remember when you used to eat alone in recess”, she said mockingly,
Remember when all of you decided to be bad classmates to me?
Not even once I felt included in your class, nor in the other section when I changed paths.
9th A or 9th B seems to be the same to me, full of people that don’t give theirselves a chance to meet me.
And you know what’s funny?
I actually started believing that something was wrong with me.
Maybe I was too quiet. Too awkward. Maybe I deserved to be alone.
But then, over time, I realized it was never about who I was. It was about the narrow walls you all built around yourselves, the ones that kept me out. You never gave me a chance to show who I really am.
And as time went on, I found something unexpected in the silence: my own voice.
I started listening to myself more, understanding what I wanted, what I enjoyed, and who I truly was—away from all of you.
I learned that I didn't need your approval or your friendship to define my worth. The person I was becoming was stronger, more resilient than the one who desperately tried to fit in.
Now, when I look back, I see a girl who wasn’t weak for sitting alone. She was strong for surviving every day in a place that made her feel small.
You all taught me something without even knowing it: that I don’t need to be included by people who don’t value me. I just need to belong to myself.
So, thank you for pushing me away. Thank you for making me realize that the only acceptance I truly needed was my own.
Soledad
I’m an open book in a world people aren’t willing to read, I say I have few friends but no one listens to me.
“See you later” you said just to never speak to me again, happened twice or thrice before, so I knew you would be the same.
Same as people I write about to forget, just to recall my lack of self love, what a regret.
I love people for the both of us, I disarm the puzzle of my heart for them, tore it apart so they are given what they deserve.
It is not that I’m not capable of loving myself, empathy is what runs through my veins; I tend to sacrifice myself for others, claiming it to be acts of service, to destroy what lies within me for a chance of redemption.
Maybe I’m a stranger to myself too, looking at my reflection, wondering who I’ve become. I crave love like it’s air, but I forget to breathe my own, searching for a part of me in others, only to lose it once again.
Have you ever felt that, too?
Like giving everything just to feel seen?
I wonder how many of us walk this earth, quietly breaking apart to keep others whole.
You don’t say anything to avoid conflict, but live in conflict for saying nothing.
But what if I started speaking, dared to let my voice echo in empty rooms?
Would I shatter this fragile peace or finally find a way to breathe?
Would the world learn to accept me, or would I finally learn to accept myself?
To the ones who bite their tongues, hide their tears behind polite smiles.
I see you, let’s not confuse silence for strength, nor call neglect a form of love.