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Between quiet and proud

  Lately… I’ve been creating more than I have in a long time. I started making more and more music on Suno—just trying things, experimenting, putting feelings somewhere instead of letting them sit in my chest. And then I did something that felt… big. I caved and bought a yearly subscription to DistroKid. Which means now… I’m actually publishing. My songs. My words. My stories. Out there. On real platforms. Even typing that feels weird. Because at the same time I’m doing this… I’m still teaching myself how to sing. Still figuring out my voice. Still learning what kind of artist I even am. So it’s not perfect. It’s not traditional. But it’s mine. And I was excited about it. Until I said something. I told my friend I’ve been using AI to help create my music… and they called it a disgrace to real music creators. And I don’t know why that hit as hard as it did… but it did. Because suddenly something I was proud of turned into something I felt like I had to de...
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Silence Feels Safer With this one

  I’m so tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The kind that sits in your chest and makes everything feel heavy… even the smallest things. I feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells. Like every word I say has to be measured, replayed, softened, rewritten before it even leaves my mouth. And even then… it still feels wrong. I’ve started second-guessing everything. The way I ask questions. The tone in my voice. Whether I should say anything at all. Because somehow it always turns into me being the problem. So I’ve been getting quieter. Not because I don’t have anything to say… but because silence feels safer than being misunderstood. Safer than being told to reread what I said like I’m the one not making sense. Safer than trying to explain how I feel just to have it turned into something else. It’s exhausting trying to stay emotionally steady when everything around me feels like it shifts depending on how it’s interpreted. One moment I think I’...
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Ten Days Before Freedom

  There was a version of me that kept choosing silence just to keep the peace. The version that stayed on the back burner, waiting for her turn, convincing herself that love meant patience… even when it felt like disappearing. I used to think if I just tried harder—loved softer, spoke calmer, gave more—I could fix what was breaking between us. But somewhere in that loop… I lost myself. Because it became a cycle. Say something. Get shut down. Feel something. Get told I’m too much. Ask for clarity. Get confusion in return. And then I’d sit there rereading everything—my words, your words—trying to figure out where I went wrong… when really, I was just trying to be heard. That’s what “Loop of War” really is. Not yelling. Not chaos. Just the quiet exhaustion of fighting to be understood by someone who keeps turning the conversation into something else. And the cracks? Those didn’t come from one moment. They came from all the small ones. Every time I swallowed how I ...
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