I stand on the edge,
the weight of the world pulling me under,
and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.
The words are caught in my throat,
choked by pride,
by fear,
but they ache to break free—
I need help.

It’s strange,
this thing called needing—
I’ve spent so long
convincing myself I’m fine,
that I can carry it all,
that I’m strong enough to stand alone.
But my knees are buckling,
and my hands tremble
under the weight of silence.

I want to scream,
but I’m afraid of the sound,
of what it will reveal.
I want to ask,
but I don’t know how.
So I stay quiet,
a prisoner to my own hesitation,
wondering if anyone can see
how lost I am.

If you could hear me,
see past the walls I’ve built,
maybe you’d reach out—
just a hand,
a touch that says it’s okay,
that I don’t have to fight this alone.

But for now,
I wait in the dark,
holding onto this whisper of hope,
that somehow,
someone will know
that I need help.