Unheard

I tell the world I'm fine

with a smile stitched across my face,

while storms gather quietly

behind my eyes.

Don't ask me if I'm hurting.

I'll hand you a rehearsed answer,

polished and practiced,

smooth enough to hide the cracks.

I walk through crowded rooms

like a ghost wearing a name,

seen by many,

known by none.

Some nights,

the silence grows so heavy

it presses against my chest

like an ocean without waves.

I want to disappear.

I want to be found.

I build walls with trembling hands,

then wonder why no one comes inside.

I lock every door,

then wait for someone to knock.

My voice echoes inward,

a conversation with shadows.

Every word I never say

becomes another stone I carry.

And still, I stand here—

not broken, not whole,

just human,

searching for a language

louder than fear,

stronger than pride,

hoping that one day

someone will hear

the things I never learned

how to say.