I wear my cape invisible—
stitched together with silence and savior complexes.
I’m the fixer,
the shoulder,
the late-night voice that picks up at 3AM
when you call crying,
even when I’m drowning too.
I’ve patched up heartbreak with duct tape words,
stitched shattered self-esteem with borrowed prayers,
held hands through storms
I wasn’t strong enough to walk through myself.
I show up—
for everybody but me.
Because it’s easier to clean up your broken glass
than to admit I’ve been walking on mine for years.
Easier to pour light into your shadows
than to look my own in the eye and ask them why they linger.
I’m the therapist without a license,
the healer without healing,
the friend who always says,
“I got you,”
but never dares to whisper,
“I need help too.”
They say I’m selfless,
but what if I’m just avoiding?
Avoiding the wreckage inside this chest
that I keep dressing in new distractions—
your crisis, their pain,
anything but mine.
It’s not that I don’t want to be whole.
It’s that wholeness feels like a room with no doors,
like sitting still in a silence so loud
it reminds me of everything I’ve buried.
So I busy myself with your wounds,
your fears,
your battles.
Not because I’m stronger,
but because I’m scared.
Scared that if I stop saving everyone else,
I’ll have no excuse
but to look at the mirror and ask,
“Why won’t you save you?”
The truth?
I don’t know how.
I can map out your healing in three easy steps
but can’t take the first one for myself.
I can walk you to freedom
but tie my own ankles with shame and guilt.
I can say,
“You’re not broken,”
but my reflection still argues.
Is it love,
or is it avoidance?
Is it compassion,
or is it fear wrapped in a noble disguise?
Is it kindness,
or a clever way to disappear from myself
without ever leaving the room?
I’ve learned the art of fixing others
like it’s a spiritual calling.
But I’m starting to wonder
if my real assignment
isn’t outside of me—
but in the mess I keep ignoring.
Maybe the greatest love
is the kind you give to your own broken pieces.
Maybe the bravest healing
is the one you stop outsourcing.
Maybe I’m not failing others by taking care of me—
maybe I’m finally choosing to be honest.
So today,
I hang up my cape.
Not because I don’t love you,
but because I finally remember
that I’m worth saving too.
Martytalks Daliy 