I'll carry and cry silently

I’ll carry it. The pain that doesn’t pass. The bruises left by family’s injustice— not fists, but words, silences, choices.

I’ll carry the slow erosion of a body fighting battles no one bothers to notice. Chronic, quiet, ignored. They see motion and call it strength. They don’t see the toll.

I’ll carry the sleep I never seem to reach. The kind that heals. The kind I crave. Instead, I rise each day on empty, still smiling. Still playing the part.

Because that’s what resilience looks like, right? Holding everything while pretending it’s nothing.

You ask if I’m okay, and I say yes— because you asked while passing. Because you didn’t wait for the truth.

Inside, I am tired. Not weak. Just worn. Just wanting, once, to be seen before I shatter.