Family Poetry

24.april.2024

My father was my first heartbreak.
My mother, the first bully.
Within walls that never held warmth,
walls that were never a home,
I tiptoed over eggshells, day in, day out.

From the street, we looked like a portrait
a family framed in glass perfection.
But inside, we each were fading
bound to the quiet ache of a silent death.

30.April.2024

The walls have ears.
They listen when I breathe too loud,
when my footsteps whisper down the hall,
when my heart beats wrong.

I fold myself into corners,
into shadows that do not belong to me.
I learn silence like a second skin,
a quiet boy is a safe boy.

Outside, the sky turns soft,
but softness is not for boys like me.
Softness is bruised, broken, buried.
So I learn to be stone.

But even stone remembers
what it feels like to crack.

26.mai.2024

I dream of a boy with light in his hands.
He touches me, and I don’t flinch.
He speaks, and my name isn’t a curse.

But morning comes like a thief,
stealing everything soft,
leaving only echoes of something
I was never meant to have.

I sit at the table, hands folded small.
My father talks of men and pride
and all the things I can never be.
I chew my tongue until it bleeds.

No one notices.
No one ever does

If they love me, why do I feel invisible?