“I Don’t Cry in Public Anymore”

“I Don’t Cry in Public Anymore”

I don’t cry in public anymore—
Not because I’m strong,
But because I’ve mastered
The art of swallowing storms
With a smile that says,
"I'm fine, thanks."

You ever scream so loud
inside your chest
that your ribs become
a cage of echoes?

Yeah.
That’s me.
Monday through Sunday.
Even on holidays.
Even when the sun is shining like
it’s got no business
being that happy.

See—
I loved like fire,
and you left me in smoke.
You took your hands
and rewrote my edges,
then vanished
like punctuation
from a sentence that still needed
closure.

You said,
"I’m not good for you,"
as if that would save me
from bleeding out after.
As if honesty can be
an apology
when it shows up too late.

Now—
I walk around
with pieces of myself
stitched together
by poems I’ll never publish,
and prayers I never finish
because I forget
what hope sounds like
halfway through.

But this—
This is my voice.
This is me
wiping my own tears
with metaphors.
Turning heartbreak into rhythm.
Grief into performance.

So, yeah—
I don’t cry in public anymore.
But I do speak.
And when I do,
the silence trembles.

Because I’m done hiding
in the pause.
I’m done being a ghost
in my own story.

I may not be whole.
But damn it—
I’m still loud.
Still rising.
Still here.