I.
I leave little pieces of myself
between the words,
waiting to see
if you notice.
II.
I tell you about the worlds I enter,
the things that keep me awake,
and wonder
if you ever wonder where I go.
III.
I stopped knocking.
Not because I left,
but because I wanted
to hear your footsteps first.
IV.
There are rooms inside me
I have never shown you.
Their doors are open.
I only wish
you'd wonder what's behind them.
V.
I don't want to teach you
how to miss me.
I want to be missed
before I disappear.
-
Author:
The Skeptic (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 24th, 2026 02:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, A.N., π£²βcursed Λ.βΦΉ
Offline)
Comments2
We all have secret rooms and here I hear an invitation to visit. A lovely write and with good metaphor
Thank you, Soren π
It is my pleasure
My friend, this hit me deeply. Wanting someone to recognize your inner life without having to beg for their attention is such a quiet and devastating ache. Powerful piece. πΉπ€ππ―οΈπ¦ββ¬
Thank you, my friend. Appreciate it, and yes, it really does hurt.
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