The Mask of Strength

I wore resilience like armor,

polished until it gleamed.

The world saw steel,

but inside—

my bones rattled like glass.

I smiled with steady hands,

though tremors lived beneath my skin.

Every gesture rehearsed,

every word a shield,

every silence a fortress.

Strength became my costume,

stitched from fear of collapse,

Woven from the need to survive.

But armor cracks.

It remembers the weight.

It betrays the body that carries it.

And when the mask slips,

I am not less—

I am only human,

broken,

and still breathing.