“No One Notices the Quiet”
I keep coming back to the same place,
the one I swore I’d left behind,
taking one step forward,
then losing myself somewhere in my mind.
I get better for a little while—
smile enough to make it believable,
laugh when someone asks if I’m okay,
become everything except miserable.
Because when I’m doing well,
I’m easier to love.
I’m not another problem,
not another weight to pick up.
So I say, “I’m fine.”
And somehow, I become fine
in everyone else’s eyes,
even when I’m falling apart inside.
I’m always there for everyone—
the late-night calls,
the broken hearts,
the “I don't know what to do” moments.
I carry pieces of people
like they're somehow mine to keep.
And nobody asks
who carries me.
Maybe they think
I don't need it.
Maybe I made being strong
look too easy.
But I'm tired.
Tired of being enough
only when I'm useful.
Tired of giving everything
and wondering why nothing remains.
I keep trying to become
someone nobody could leave,
someone nobody could get tired of,
someone worth staying for.
And every time I fail,
I blame myself.
I disappear slowly—
not all at once,
just quieter messages,
fewer laughs,
closed doors,
longer silences.
I wonder if anyone notices
the space I leave behind.
Maybe they do.
Maybe they don't.
That's the cruelest part—
feeling invisible
while desperately wishing
someone would look closely enough
to realize that “I'm okay”
was never the truth.
I'm not asking to be saved.
I'm asking to be seen.
Because underneath the progress,
underneath the smiles,
underneath every “I'm doing better,”
there is still a person
who is exhausted from trying.
And maybe I'm not failing.
Maybe I'm just tired
of surviving every day
like I have something to prove.
Maybe, for once,
I don't need to be enough
for everyone.
Maybe I just need
someone to notice
that I'm still here.


