There is always something wrong with me
not loud not obvious
just a quiet fracture
running through everything I touch
Happiness visits like a stranger
who never stays long enough
to learn my name
I almost believe in it
until it turns
and the ocean remembers me
It comes back all at once
Not sadness
something larger
a tidal wave with my voice in it
crashing through the small rooms
I try to build inside myself
I am always rebuilding
Always bracing
Always learning the sound
of something good
about to break
People reach for me
and I step back
not because I do not want them
but because I do
Because I know what it is
to hold something gently
and still watch it fall apart
in my hands
So I keep my distance
like it is safety
like it is control
like loneliness is not just
another kind of drowning
And it fills everything
the quiet mornings
the crowded rooms
the spaces between words
where something should live
but does not
There is a weight to being
unloved the right way
It settles in your bones
teaches you
that warmth is temporary
that hands leave
that forever is just a softer word
for almost
Now love feels wrong
even when it is trying not to be
Like a language
I was never taught
but expected to speak fluently
So I stand here
on the edge of something soft
wanting to fall into it
terrified I will
Because every time I do
the fault line shifts
and I am reminded
there is always something wrong with me
And it is always waiting
to be proven right