Jun 30, 2025
When I get home
I give what I got
even when it ain’t much.
A smile here, a hand there
people need it.
So I pour.
They leave feeling better.
I just feel emptier.
When I get home,
no one’s waiting.
No voice,
no warmth,
just walls and air.
Too quiet.
I don’t wanna disappear
not really.
If it all stopped,
I wouldn’t fight it.
I’m just tired.
Not the kind sleep fixes.
The kind where
you just want
someone to see you.
To pour back
just a little.
I’m running on fumes,
but I still show up.
Still pour.
Still hope.
That maybe one day
someone will notice
my cup’s been dry
for a while now.
