The Room Where I Exist
I don’t speak much
not because I have nothing to say,
but because this world rarely listens
to silence that doesn't scream.
I sit with shadows,
not out of fear
but because they don't expect me
to shine when I’m tired.
People pass like passing clouds
all noise, all rush,
while I stay rooted in storms
they’ll never notice.
I write my thoughts in margins,
not in conversations.
My world is not loud,
but it’s vast
quiet galaxies where I feel everything.
They call it lonely,
but I call it breathing.
Not everyone needs a crowd
to feel alive.
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