Ghost of The Disappearing Year
The Year of Disappearing I shrank myself to fit the room, learned to vanish to avoid the boom. Chose the quiet seat in class, became transparent, thin as glass. No one asked where Becca went, kids don’t question what’s absent. A ghost at ten, a whisper shape, a soul rehearsing her escape. I learned to breathe without a sound, keep my feet just off the ground. If I stayed light, if I stayed kind, maybe danger would pass me by. The year of disappearing, I turned invisible for peace, paid the price for false release. The year I learned that being small doesn’t keep you safe at all. Teachers praised me for being still, called it mature, high self will. But silence isn’t discipline, it’s armor kids learn to live in. I faded out in photos too, half a smile, half untrue. Camera caught what no one saw, a child living under awe. Gold stars pinned to quiet pain, good girl badges, well trained shame. They loved the parts that didn’t speak, never asked what made me weak. The year of disappearing, skin went soft, voice went clearing. I turned invisible for peace, paid the price for false release. The year I learned that being small doesn’t keep you safe at all. I learned the art of leaving first, how to vanish before the worst. Stayed polite, stayed out of sight, called survival doing right. I folded anger, tucked it in, made myself a discipline. If I erased enough of me, maybe nothing else would bleed. You can’t disappear forever, your pulse will rebel, whisper never. Bones remember, lungs demand, a heartbeat breaks the careful plan. The body keeps the score, it’s true, it hums the song you tried to mute.
You may also like
Leave a comment
The Year of Disappearing I shrank myself to fit the room, learned to vanish to avoid the boom. Chose the quiet seat in class, became transparent, thin as glass. No one asked where Becca went, kids don’t question what’s absent. A ghost at ten, a whisper shape, a soul rehearsing her escape. I learned to breathe without a sound, keep my feet just off the ground. If I stayed light, if I stayed kind, maybe danger would pass me by. The year of disappearing, I turned invisible for peace, paid the price for false release. The year I learned that being small doesn’t keep you safe at all. Teachers praised me for being still, called it mature, high self will. But silence isn’t discipline, it’s armor kids learn to live in. I faded out in photos too, half a smile, half untrue. Camera caught what no one saw, a child living under awe. Gold stars pinned to quiet pain, good girl badges, well trained shame. They loved the parts that didn’t speak, never asked what made me weak. The year of disappearing, skin went soft, voice went clearing. I turned invisible for peace, paid the price for false release. The year I learned that being small doesn’t keep you safe at all. I learned the art of leaving first, how to vanish before the worst. Stayed polite, stayed out of sight, called survival doing right. I folded anger, tucked it in, made myself a discipline. If I erased enough of me, maybe nothing else would bleed. You can’t disappear forever, your pulse will rebel, whisper never. Bones remember, lungs demand, a heartbeat breaks the careful plan. The body keeps the score, it’s true, it hums the song you tried to mute.
ok🔥🔥🔥Slime 🤝 Gas ⛽️ Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯
Love ❤️🔥 FIRE 🔥 HEAT 🥵 ATE 🍜 Keep grinding ✊ Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯
KILLED IT 😵 Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯