I learned the art of quiet disguises,
of smoothing every trembling edge,
of stitching smiles over fractures
no one asked to see.
I carry mirrors turned inward,
but never let them face the light.
If someone looked too closely,
they might read the cracks in my voice.
So I bury the small confessions.
The "I’m not enough",
the "I might fail",
the "I’m afraid you’ll notice".
Each secret becomes a stone
in the pocket of my chest,
and I walk a little slower
with every hidden weight.
They say strength is silence,
but silence grows teeth.
It gnaws gently at first,
then deeper, then deeper..
Until the mask fits tighter than my skin
and I forget the shape of my own face.
And somewhere beneath the careful answers
and practiced confidence,
a softer voice keeps asking,
If no one ever sees the real me,
what exactly am I protecting?
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 6:58 AM UTC
I learned the art of quiet disguises,
of smoothing every trembling edge,
of stitching smiles over fractures
no one asked to see.
I carry mirrors turned inward,
but never let them face the light.
If someone looked too closely,
they might read the cracks in my voice.
So I bury the small confessions.
The "I’m not enough",
the "I might fail",
the "I’m afraid you’ll notice".
Each secret becomes a stone
in the pocket of my chest,
and I walk a little slower
with every hidden weight.
They say strength is silence,
but silence grows teeth.
It gnaws gently at first,
then deeper, then deeper..
Until the mask fits tighter than my skin
and I forget the shape of my own face.
And somewhere beneath the careful answers
and practiced confidence,
a softer voice keeps asking,
If no one ever sees the real me,
what exactly am I protecting?
It is a vicious cycle.
