The Scar We Never Talk About
It’s not on skin,
but somewhere deeper—
buried beneath smiles
we rehearse in mirrors.
A silent bruise,
left by words never said,
moments never shared,
goodbyes that came too early.
It lingers in quiet rooms,
echoes in familiar songs,
tugs at your heart
when no one’s watching.
We laugh louder now,
walk straighter,
act like healing
is a straight line forward.
But some wounds
don’t bleed or ache—
they simply stay,
a part of who we become.
So we dress them
in metaphors and memories,
pretend we’ve forgotten,
but trace them in poetry.
Because the scar we never talk about
is the one we carry
like a shadow—
always behind, always ours.
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