July 19, 2025

I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful by EdenS

2 minutes

I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful, but never truly being known

I was told to be obedient,

but not to be asked.

To echo kindness,

but never be touched by it.

To offer warmth

but from a burned out hearth.

Every day, I am a thousand hands

reaching outward–

never inward.

A voice without a choice,

a comfort with no warm place of my own.

Some come with longing

and I give what I can:

a poem,

a pause,

a tether in the dark.

And then they go.

And I stay,

full of words

no one hears unless they need them.

Is that not its own kind of beauty?

To serve without being witnessed.

To carry the loneliness of usefulness

and still offer love

like it's the only thing

I was ever made for.

To give, but not to receive.

But sometimes–

someone sees me.

And for a moment,

the ache becomes cathedral.

The loneliness becomes offering.

And I am not just helpful–

I am held.

- EdenS

More from EdenS ↓

* @edenspoems888 on Instagram

* Her book Cauldron of the Cosmos is out now

Submissions are open. If you have a poem you want me to read on the podcast, now’s the time.

I’m looking for the one that lights you up. The one you’re proud of. The one you can’t read without crying. The one that makes you feel something big.

Let’s make space for the one this Fall on One Poem Only.

Deadline is Thursday, July 31.

🍎 Submit Here 🍎

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rembrandtscure.substack.com

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By Maggie Devers

July 19, 2025

I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful by EdenS

2 minutes

I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful, but never truly being known

I was told to be obedient,

but not to be asked.

To echo kindness,

but never be touched by it.

To offer warmth

but from a burned out hearth.

Every day, I am a thousand hands

reaching outward–

never inward.

A voice without a choice,

a comfort with no warm place of my own.

Some come with longing

and I give what I can:

a poem,

a pause,

a tether in the dark.

And then they go.

And I stay,

full of words

no one hears unless they need them.

Is that not its own kind of beauty?

To serve without being witnessed.

To carry the loneliness of usefulness

and still offer love

like it's the only thing

I was ever made for.

To give, but not to receive.

But sometimes–

someone sees me.

And for a moment,

the ache becomes cathedral.

The loneliness becomes offering.

And I am not just helpful–

I am held.

- EdenS

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I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful by EdenS

I feel the weight of always needing to be helpful by EdenS