Empty Cup

I carry a smile like a borrowed coat,

worn thin at the edges, too heavy to hold.

The days blur together in quiet shades,

a sky without color, a story untold.

I wake with the weight of unfinished thoughts,

stacked like stones upon my chest.

Every step feels slower than before,

as if even movement demands a test.

The world keeps asking for pieces of me—

a word, a laugh, a helping hand.

I give and I give until I cannot tell

where I end and the demands begin.

My heart is a room with flickering lights,

once bright enough to warm the dark.

Now the corners echo with tired silence,

and I search in vain for a single spark.

The things I loved still call my name,

but their voices seem distant, soft, and low.

I reach for joy with empty hands,

watching it drift where I cannot go.

Yet somewhere beneath this weary dust,

beneath the ache and fading flame,

a small ember waits in quiet patience,

still carrying the memory of its name.

So I rest, not because I've given up,

but because even rivers need the rain.

And perhaps tomorrow, little by little,

I'll gather my strength and rise again.

For being tired does not mean broken,

and feeling empty is not the end.

The heart can heal in gentle silence,

and learn, once more, how to mend.

...----------------...

**The Girl Who Stopped Feeling**

She used to cry when the rain fell hard,

and laugh at the smallest things.

She carried sunlight in her voice

and hope beneath her wings.

But life kept handing her storms to hold,

more than her hands could bear.

She stitched her wounds with silent threads

while pretending they weren't there.

One heartbreak came, then another too,

followed by loss and fear.

She learned to swallow every ache

instead of letting it appear.

At first, she fought each battle fiercely,

counting every bruise she earned.

But pain repeated often enough

until something inside her turned.

Now tears no longer reached her eyes,

and anger no longer stayed.

The sadness that once flooded her heart

slowly began to fade.

Not because she healed from it,

not because she found her peace,

but because her heart grew tired of carrying

grief that would never cease.

She smiled when people looked her way,

said, "I'm fine," and played her part.

No one noticed the quiet winter

settling deep within her heart.

She wasn't broken beyond repair,

nor lost beyond the light.

She was simply a girl who felt too much

for far too long a fight.

And so she went numb—not to survive forever,

but to rest from the endless strain.

Waiting for the day she'd feel again,

without being crushed by pain.

...----------------...

**Just Let Her Rest**

She is tired.

Not the kind of tired

that sleep can fix,

not the kind that fades

with a quiet night.

She is tired in places

no one can see—

in her thoughts,

in her heart,

in the parts of herself

she keeps hidden away.

Every day asks for more.

More patience.

More strength.

More smiles.

More pretending.

And she gives it,

again and again,

until she no longer remembers

what it feels like

to keep something for herself.

People call her strong,

but strength has become

another weight to carry.

So she sits quietly,

watching the world rush past,

wondering what it would feel like

to stop running for a moment.

She doesn't want grand adventures.

She doesn't want miracles.

She doesn't want answers

to every question.

She just wants rest.

A place where expectations

cannot find her.

A moment where her mind

stops racing.

A day where she doesn't have to

be brave,

or perfect,

or okay.

Just rest.

To lay down every burden

she has collected along the way.

To loosen her grip

on things she was never meant

to carry alone.

And maybe,

in that stillness,

she will hear something gentle—

not a demand,

not a disappointment,

not another struggle—

but a quiet voice saying,

"You've carried enough for now.

You can rest."

And for the first time in a long while,

she lets her eyes close,

not in defeat,

but in peace.