Fragile Poetry @fragilepoetry - Tumblr Blog

The stars listened

while I confessed

that I feel like porcelain.

Pretty enough to keep,

too fragile to hold.

I want to say,

please notice I’m drowning,

but I also want

no one to worry,

so I become quiet

and call it coping.

They killed innocence

like it was something disposable.

Something small enough to crush

between careless hands,

something soft enough to leave trembling

without anyone asking

what survived after.

And nobody tells you this:

that sometimes the body grows up

while the soul stays kneeling

in the same ruined place.

So here I am,

an adult stitched together

with trembling thread,

carrying a child inside my ribs

who still startles at everything.

Still hoping.

Still waiting.

Still looking at every kindness

like a starving thing left out in winter,

wondering if this time

someone might finally stay.

Because innocence was not only taken.

It was interrupted.

A childhood cut open too early,

left unfinished,

left standing barefoot in the cold

trying to understand

why tenderness always arrived

with sharp edges.

And some nights

I swear I can feel her inside me,

that little version of myself,

small hands,

wide eyes,

a frightened little deer

abandoned in a forest too dark

for something so fragile.

All shaking legs and quiet fear.

The kind of scared

that never really leaves the body.

The kind that settles into your bones

and teaches you to apologize

for taking up space.

So I fold myself smaller.

Smaller.

Knees pressed to my chest

like maybe if I become tiny enough,

gentle enough,

easy enough to love,

someone will finally see me.

Will they?

If I curl into myself

until I almost disappear,

will someone kneel beside me

instead of walking past?

Will someone notice

that beneath this grown face

there is still a child

aching to be held softly?

Because God,

I still ache for something

I do not know how to name without grieving.

A father-shaped emptiness.

A wound with hands.

The unbearable hunger

of wanting someone older, safer, steadier

to look at me and say,

I see you.

You never had to earn softness.

Come here.

Because my own father

looked at absence

and somehow chose it.

And there is a grief in that

that feels ancient.

To wonder what was so wrong with me

before I even knew how to speak.

To spend years growing around rejection

like ivy around broken stone,

still asking questions

with no place to set them down:

Why wasn’t I enough to stay for?

Why did loving me feel optional?

And still,

despite everything,

there is a child inside me

who keeps reaching out tiny trembling hands

toward the shape of safety.

Who still wants to rest their head

against someone’s chest

without fear.

Who still wants gentleness

without punishment.

Who still wants to believe

that being vulnerable

does not mean being abandoned.

A scared little deer, really.

Breathing too fast.

Heart too loud.

Standing alone at the edge of the woods,

waiting for someone kind enough

to notice she is shivering,

kind enough to crouch down slowly,

hands open,

voice soft,

and say:

you do not have to make yourself smaller to be loved.

I see you now.

I have so much to say, yet nobody notices the galaxies collapsing behind my smile, the stars burning themselves into ash just to keep me warm enough to look okay. Sometimes I wonder how something can ache so loudly and still remain unheard.

-fragile

The evening settles softly on my satin dress,

warm wind carrying summer in a quiet tenderness.

My hair moves with the breeze, gentle as a sigh,

while the garden glows faintly beneath a fading sky.

There is something bittersweet in how the moment stays,

like happiness already drifting into yesterday.

And I sit so very still, afraid to breathe too deep,

hoping memory is kind enough this night to keep.

-fragile

𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.

-𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘦

I’m still a little kid

only my body has grown.

They taught me how to be quiet

before they taught me how to be safe.

Childhood slipped out through my fingers,

not stolen,

just… never given.

Now I keep trying to rebuild it

from scraps

a soft things a small joys,

The validation I seek.

But the truth sits heavy in my chest:

you can’t go back

to a place

you were never allowed to be.

-fragile

I am weather with no forecast.

Clear one second,

and then the sky tears open

like it was never meant to hold.

People step into me unprepared.

They think I am sunlight

soft, golden, easy to understand.

They don’t see

the storm pacing behind my ribs,

counting seconds,

waiting for a reason

that doesn’t have to make sense.

I don’t shift gradually.

I snap.

Love is a matchstick.

It flares

too bright, too fast

and I press it to everything

just to feel it burn.

But all I want is to be loved,

Adored,

Understood.

For a moment,

I am warmth,

I am light,

I am everything you ever needed.

And then I watch it

turn to smoke in my hands.

I don’t know how to hold things

without crushing them

or letting them slip through completely.

There is no middle setting.

Only extremes

fighting for space in the same chest.

I am a tide

that betrays its own shoreline.

I come close

closer than I should

memorizing every inch of you

like survival depends on it.

And then I pull back

so violently

it looks like I never cared at all.

But I did.

That’s the problem.

Everything matters

until it becomes unbearable,

and then nothing does

just to keep me breathing.

Inside,

there’s this hollow place

not empty,

just unfinished.

like something essential

was removed

and no one told me

what was supposed to be there.

So I fill it

with people,

with feelings,

with chaos loud enough

to drown out the question.

It never works.

It leaks.

It always leaks.

And I am left

with the aftermath

the silence after the storm,

where everything is still standing

but nothing feels real anymore.

I wish I could tell you

there’s a lesson in this,

some clean meaning

tucked between the damage.

There isn’t.

Just repetition.

Just survival dressed up

as personality.

Just me

learning how to exist

in a body that feels like

it could turn against itself

at any moment,

I want to give up

Rest and break the pattern,

But as long as I breathe,

The cycle will repeat

„bpd the violence of feeling everything”

We are made of stars,

but no one tells you

how much had to break

for us to exist.

Somewhere, something burned

until it couldn’t hold itself together,

until it split open

and gave everything away.

That is what lives in us.

Not just light..

but the memory of losing it.

Some days we shine,

and it feels effortless,

like the universe finally got it right.

Like it’s a blessing,

Other days,

the light disappears so quietly

it’s terrifying,

Suffocating,

like it was never ours to begin with.

We fold into the dark,

Empty, exhausted,

trying to remember

how to glow.

But even then,

even when it feels like

everything inside us has gone cold

we are still made

of something that once

lit up entire skies.

And maybe that’s the cruel,

Bittersweet truth,

we carry the remains of stars

that didn’t survive,

and still, somehow,

we are forced

to shine the brightest,

Which is strange because, stars never asked to be seen.

If I confess that I feel like an empty sky, will you still search for constellations in me?

-fragile

„Hold me in your arms like you’re scared I’m going to fall apart.”

~fragile

I buried my feelings so deep to survive that even I started mourning myself like someone who never made it out alive

~fragile

Late night message to stars

am so tired

of acting like my heart is a locked room

no one ever lived in.

Tired of nodding

while something inside me

is on its knees

screaming without a mouth.

I learned how to go still

the way prey does

right before the teeth sink in

if I don’t move,

if I don’t feel,

maybe it won’t hurt as much.

So I buried every ache alive.

Every almost-cry.

Every please don’t leave me like this.

I packed the dirt down with shaking hands

and called it strength.

But the truth is

I feel everything.

I feel it in my jaw when I smile too long.

In my throat when words claw their way up

and I shove them back down

like they don’t deserve air.

There are oceans inside me

I pretend are just empty space.

Waves hitting my ribs over and over

while I sit there calmly

saying,

“I don’t care.”

I care so much

it feels like standing bare-skinned in winter,

and I still choose the cold

because frostbite is quieter than fire.

I am not heartless.

I am heart-bruised.

Heart-bitten.

Heart-tired of beating against a cage

I built to keep it safe.

And some nights

I swear the saddest part is this

not that it hurts,

but that I’ve gotten so good

at pretending

no one would ever know

there was something alive in here

at all.

-fragile

Something in me shifted quietly, and now no matter how hard I reach back, my hands only touch the shape of who I used to be.

-fragile

We are like stars..born to burn bright in someone else’s sky, never realizing that our light was never meant to be permanent, only present for a moment..

~fragile

Disorganized heart

I am two instincts

fighting over the same heartbeat.

One of me begs:

Stay. Choose me. Don’t forget.

The other whispers:

Leave first. Don’t need. Don’t feel.

I check my phone like it’s oxygen

then throw it across the room in shame.

I crave reassurance

and resent you for giving it.

closeness sets off alarms.

distance confirms my fears.

I lean in until my chest aches

then disappear

to see if you’ll notice.

I want to be the safest place you know

without ever letting you inside.

So I love you in contradictions:

too much,

then not at all,

then aching in the silence I created.

I am anxious in the doorway,

avoidant in the room,

and lonely everywhere in between

~fragile

You lay your fragile heart bare to the cruelty of hope…and it shatters every time.

-fragile

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