The weight of silent pain

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.

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.