I Write, But No One Sees

Each word was a heartbeat, each line a breath… but the world turned away, and silence stayed.

I write.

Not to impress,

Not to trend,

But to survive.

Each word stitched

from wounds unseen,

Each line born

from silent screams.

I write,

when the world sleeps,

when the lights are off

and only my soul is awake.

But the platform I chose—

Vocal Media—

chose silence in return.

I saw numbers, not names.

Reads, not readers.

And so I questioned...

Why do stories with less soul rise,

While mine, heavy with truth,

lie buried beneath the algorithm’s feet?

For an entire month,

I wrote like I was bleeding onto pages.

I wrote poems with pulse,

And reflections with fire.

And what did I receive?



436 reads. That’s all. One whole month. No Top Story. No recognition. Just numbers. Just silence.

I kept refreshing,

Kept hoping—

That maybe today,

they’ll see the heart

beating inside my lines.

But the Top Story?

It passed me by.

Again. And again.

Like a train that never stops for the passenger holding the most fragile luggage.

To the editors of Vocal,

I don’t ask for fame.

I ask for fairness.

For eyes that see effort.

For ears that hear grief hidden in rhyme.

To the platform I once believed in—

Don’t let real writers fade.

But I won’t stop.

Because maybe,

one day,

these very lines—

this Grievance,

this Complaint—

will echo louder than any trending post.



You skipped my soul, and praised the skin,

But I’ll keep writing… even if I never win.

Because somewhere, someone bleeds like me—

And they’ll find peace in my poetry.

“I wrote these lines hoping someone would feel less alone. If you're reading this, maybe that someone was you.”