we won't cry anymore

i just wanted to be loved a little

I spent my teenage years chasing the echoes of approval, shaping myself into someone else, like clay in hands not my own. I wanted to be loved—just a little. I molded my voice to fit the chorus of others, carved away the sharp edges of who I was, hoping to fit into the soft curves of acceptance.

Each time I silenced my own heart to let theirs speak louder, I thought I was winning something. I thought I'd finally found the secret to belonging. But each forced laugh, each false agreement left me emptier, like a candle slowly melting in the dark, its flame flickering but never lighting my own way.

I became what they wanted, or what I thought they wanted—my opinions quieted, my dreams set aside like forgotten trinkets on a shelf. I wore smiles that weren't mine, borrowed personalities like costumes for a play where I didn't even know my role. And the applause never came.

I wanted to be loved—just a little. But the love I craved was not for me, only for the masks I wore. And with each mask I tried on, the real me slipped further away. I wasn't myself, but I couldn't stop. The fear of rejection, of standing alone in a crowd that never truly saw me, was stronger than the loneliness I felt in silence.

I became a people pleaser, but I never pleased myself. The sadness crept in, quiet at first, like shadows at dusk, until it swallowed me whole. I realized too late that in trying to please everyone, I had lost the one person I needed most—myself.

And now, looking back, I wonder if anyone ever really knew me. Or if I ever truly let them.