Whispers Behind Closed Doors

There are things I never say aloud—

not because I don’t want to,

but because words get stuck

somewhere between my throat and my heart.

I carry fears like old scars,

hidden so well even I forget they’re there.

I’m scared of breaking,

but scared of holding on too tight.

Sometimes I cry in silence,

because nobody’s around,

and the tears don’t fit the “strong” mask I wear all day.

I’ve got dreams I’m too afraid to chase,

and thoughts I tuck away,

like old letters I never send.

There’s a rage that bubbles under the surface—

not the kind you see,

but the kind that keeps you awake

and leaves your hands shaking at night.

I wish I could say,

“I’m tired.”

I wish I could say,

“I’m scared.”

I wish I could say,

“I’m not okay.”

But instead, I smile,

and keep those whispers behind closed doors,

waiting for a day when maybe,

just maybe,

I’ll find the courage to speak them aloud.