Behind The Curtain

I hold my silence like a sword, In battles no one sees me fight. My tears are ghosts behind closed doors, They only visit in the night. A smile’s the armor that I wear, Each laugh rehearsed, each word in line. No one suspects, no one can stare Into the cracks I call “I’m fine.” My throat is raw from swallowed storms, But still, I speak with steady grace. I’ve learned to mimic human forms— To leave no trace upon my face. Not weakness, no—it’s self-defense, A wall I built when I was small. To cry is to invite suspense, And risk the shame of letting fall. So I retreat to silent rooms, Where shadows are my only peers, And let my grief bloom into fumes In private pools of unshed tears. You’ll never see the floods I hide, The way I drown behind this screen. I cannot let the world decide What tender ever really means. So if I break, I break alone— No witness to the quiet war. The world will never hear my moan, Or find the softness at my core.