Isn’t it cruel how they laugh at storms they’ve never stood in?
They call it drama,
while inside, a soul is clawing at the walls of its own chest.
They don’t see the panic that grips the throat at 3 a.m.,
the silent battles fought between breaths,
the way anxiety turns the mind into a prison
with no lights left on.
They see a smile
polished, practiced, perfect.
They don’t see the exhaustion of holding back tears
just to seem ‘normal.’
So you learn to disappear in plain sight,
to bury your feelings so deep
even you forget where they ache.
You master the art of feeling nothing,
because feeling everything is too violent.
And still they ask
‘Why are you so distant?’
Will they ever understand
that some hearts aren’t cold…
they’re just tired of breaking in silence?
