Some of us offer hands before words,
fill the silence with service, not sound.
Caretakers, sewing ourselves into others' wounds,
hoping that healing them will heal us, too.
Some of us carry the weight of yes,
become the oil to ease the chaos,
Enablers, smoothing jagged edges,
even when they carve into our skin.
Some of us need control to breathe,
like holding a kite against a storm.
Controllers, gripping tight to the strings of others,
believing their flight depends on our touch.
Some of us vanish into malleable shapes,
shifting tones, mirroring faces, molding selves.
Adjusters, contorting to fit spaces,
swallowing truth to keep the peace.
In all these ways, we disappear—
a slow unraveling beneath love’s name.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: March 31st, 2026 08:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
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Comments2
A wonderful poem Gray on as I see it political correctness, timidness to be who we are, fear of offence and the desire to be liked at any cost. We call it love or rather many call it love I call it dishonesty. What a wonderful write a fave
This might be the essence of the poem
In all these ways, we disappear—
a slow unraveling beneath love’s name.
The poem seems to ask--is it worth it, what one loses as one serves others? Is it out of love that one serves or just "loves' name"? The poem seems to evoke a gentle bitterness--if that makes sense.
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