Things I can't say out loud

Things I can't say out loud

There are pages of me torn quietly in corners, folded into prayers I never spoke, buried beneath a child's scream that no one pause to hear.

I was born into a room of light but raised under shadows a car crash turned my bones into whispers, my voice to glass too fragile to shatter. I learned silence not from peace but from surviving the noise.

I watched my mother crack like porcelain at the hand of a man I call father. then I learned: "Bravery is standing still while your heart begs to run"

There are truths I hold like fire in my throat the way I love, the way I feel seen in reflections no one dares to look into. To speak them would be to set fire to the world, so I keep them buried beneath my ribs like stars hidden behind storm clouds.

They say it's wrong.

They say it's wrong.

But still I hope. Because somehow life led me toward soft light and hands that didn't strike and voices that didn't hush me and dreams that didn't burn when I touched them.

I am not just what hurt me.

I am not the silence forced into my lungs.

I am the storm and the calm after it.

I am the voice that could break walls if I ever chose to scream.

But instead I write. Maybe one day these things I can't say out loud will echo loud enough to set someone else free.