Muted Truths

I smile

with clenched teeth

I say “I’m fine”

like throwing a sheet over a cold body

I don’t say

I’m afraid of silence

when it’s too full of me

I don’t say

that I envy

those who cry

in front of everyone

as if they’ve been granted

permission to be heavy

I don’t say

I invent wounds

just to feel entitled to hurt

that I talk to walls

because they listen better than I do

I don’t say

that some mornings

I want to stay in bed

until I disappear

that the voice in my head

doesn’t have my accent

and hates me

with surgical precision

I don’t say

I love you

but that love tastes acidic

as if my mouth forgot

how to offer without burning

I don’t say

I’m tired

of trying to be light

that my laughter’s a costume

tailored to hide

the stitches underneath

I don’t say

I need help

and I want to refuse it

because I confuse love

with owing something back

I don’t say

all the things I don’t say

because saying them

would make me

someone alive

and I’m not ready

to be that alive