When Silence Speaks

I learned how to be strong

by watching myself

not fall apart in public.

They told me to stay quiet—

so I sharpened my silence

until it could cut.

I don’t raise my voice—

I raise truths

people tried to bury.

My pain doesn’t scream,

it stands still

and dares you to look.

I am not healing loudly—

I am surviving

on purpose.

They mistook my patience

for permission,

and my calm

for surrender.

I am proof

that silence can break,

and when it does—

it sounds like me.