We Were Never Loud

We were never
the ones
who shouted.

Never the ones
in the center
of rooms.

We lived
on the edges,
where the noise
couldn’t touch us.

Our pain
never screamed.
It whispered,
curled in corners,
tucked beneath smiles.

We gave
more than we had.
Stayed
longer than we should.
Held back
so others could
shine.

And they called us
kind.
They called us
strong.
But mostly,
they didn’t call
at all.

No one asks
how silence feels
when it stretches
for years.
How it settles
into bones
like cold.

We were never
the story.
Just the pause
between paragraphs.
The page
you skip over.

But we were here.
We still are.
Even if no one
remembers
to listen.