Glitter gel pen

glitter gel pen—

the ink I signed my life with,

dripped bright onto paper,

childhood shimmer,

caught in the light,

made them think

I was golden through and through

now they press close,

peeling back the layers,

expecting glow after glow,

believing that each cut

will reveal another glint,

a shine beneath every scar

but what will they say

when they finally see

I bleed only red, not gold—

not the glittered myth

they painted me in,

what happens to her,

the girl they called gifted,

when they realize she’s only flesh,

ordinary, aching?

when the pedestal crumbles, ,

and she stands bare, alone

with her dreams dulled,

her brilliance a memory—

will they still call her gifted

when she no longer shines?

always the bridesmaid, never the bride,

always an angel, never the god,

a friend, a crush, a moment

that slips away in someone else’s story.

pretty, but never enough,

the loudest in the room,

a voice meant to drown the silence inside.

whispers follow her,

clinging to her hair like dust,

too loud, too bold,

too much to ignore.

the one with the laughter,

the one with kind words,

only given when she dares to let her hurt show.

even then, the kindness feels thin,

stretched over something unspoken,

a quiet jealousy, a rule nobody admits—

she’s good, but never enough.

they say she’s strong,

that she has everything she needs,

but she feels it—

the weight of “almost,” the ache of “close but not.”

not worthy, not deserving,

love just beyond her reach.

never the bride,

never the one holding the light in her hands,

good, but never good enough,

never enough for love.