The silent storms

They never see the storm beneath my silence,
A war I fight with a smiling face.
Pain with no audience, sorrow with no stage,
I bleed within, in quiet disgrace.

I laugh to hide the echo of my screams,
I dance while dragging broken feet.
A master of disguise, I wear my wounds
Like art too tragic to complete.

Nights whisper truths I dare not speak,
My pillow knows the salt of tears.
Each breath I take, a fight to stay
While buried under quiet fears.

My chest is a locked room filled with screams,
Echoes of things I’ll never tell.
Some pain doesn’t shout—it sinks, it stays,
And builds a private kind of hell.

But still I rise, day after day,
With tired hands and aching soul.
Not for applause, not for display,
But to stitch myself back whole.

I wear this mask, a crafted art,
A fragile shield to guard my heart.
But inside, storms rage and roar,
Invisible battles, a silent war.

People see the calm, the steady stride,
Never the tears that I’ve cried.
They don’t hear the quiet pleas
That echo deep inside of me.

Loneliness walks beside me close,
A shadow friend no one else knows.
Yet in that darkness, I find my strength,
To carry on, no matter the length.

Each scar I hide is proof I’ve fought,
Lessons learned, wisdom taught.
Pain is the teacher, harsh but true,
Showing me what I never knew.

The weight I carry shapes my soul,
Molding me into something whole.
Though broken, battered, sometimes bruised,
I’m still here, I’m still fused.

I’ve learned that tears don’t make you weak,
They wash the wounds we cannot speak.
And silence sometimes speaks the loudest,
A language of pain that’s proudest.

So if you meet someone who shines too bright,
Ask about the storms they’ve braved.
Not all warriors wear their pain in blood—
Some wear it like a smile, well-behaved.

I am a quiet storm, fierce and wild,
A broken heart, yet hopeful child.
My battle’s mine, but not in vain,
For every night will yield to day.

In this silence, I find my voice,
A whispered hope, a healing choice.
To rise beyond the ache and strife,
To claim my peace, to live my life.

So here I stand, still unbowed,
Beneath this pain, unspoken, loud.
A quiet warrior, strong and true,
Living proof that pain renews.

Because sometimes the greatest fight
Is the one no one sees in sight.
And strength is born from wounds inside—
The quiet storm that will not hide.