Ghost of Myself

I move through rooms
like breath no one notices—
a shadow at the edges
of my own story.

Walls that once echoed my laughter
now keep secrets from me.
Windows show lives unfolding
as though I were never written into them.

I used to belong here,
but now the air
slips past me,
and the mirrors forget my face.

I am pressed to the margins,
words erased before they settle,
a voice swallowed
in the undertow of other people’s noise.

I am not gone—
but I am thinned,
transparent,
a ghost rehearsing
the shape of disappearance.

And still, somewhere inside,
a pulse insists—
a whisper beneath the silence:
I am here.
I am here.
I am here.

Keep My Words Alive

If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.