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things i never said out loud —
maybe because i thought they’d sound like excuses.
or maybe because i knew they’d sound too much like the truth.
i’ve always been interested in everything.
i collect hobbies like bruises —
soft at first,
then they linger.
writing, drawing, painting, filming, creating —
i keep reaching for new ways
to express something
i can’t even name.
i learn fast.
i start strong.
and then?
i drift.
i lose focus.
i move on.
not because i don’t care —
but because i care too much
and never feel good enough.
i know a little about a lot.
but i don't shine in any one thing.
i’m always close,
never quite.
i’m a jack of all trades, but a master of none.
and while people say that with a shrug,
for me, it’s a quiet ache —
like being a spark
when you long to be a flame.
people say that’s versatility.
i say it’s exhausting.
i envy those who have one passion,
one purpose,
one path.
people who say “i’ve always known.”
i’ve never known.
i’ve only ever felt —
deeply,
chaotically,
too often.
i want to be known for the things i love,
not the things i perform.
i want someone to look at something i made and say,
“that feels like you.”
i want to exist
without needing to prove that i should.
but instead,
i feel like a constant pitch —
hoping someone will listen long enough
to believe in the melody beneath it.
some days,
i fear i’m too much —
too scattered,
too intense,
too restless.
other days,
i fear i’m not enough —
not consistent,
not talented,
not remarkable.
most days, i’m both.
i am a mosaic of maybes.
a gallery of half-finished thoughts
and over-felt feelings.
people say, “you’re good at so many things.”
but no one ever says,
“you’re unforgettable at one.”
and god,
how i ache to be unforgettable at something.
not famous,
not praised —
just seen.
clearly.
truly.
as i am.
maybe that’s the root of it:
i just want to matter.
not everywhere.
just somewhere.
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