The walls of my room have secrets that even my closest friends do not know.
They have seen me toss and turn restless night after restless night or watched me play dead as I sleep away my exhaustion.
The passing time within these walls have been painted with the sound of my cries and cleaned with pools of my tears as I constantly wonder why I am never good enough.

They hold the moans of men that are enticed ever so long to make their mark and then leave.
The walls hear the conversations about men that didn't matter but still managed to make me feel like I did.
They hold the snores of others as they rest peacefully after finding pleasure as I lay still wondering why I still feel nothing.

The walls hold in everything.
They have heard every intrusive thought and every "I hate you" that has managed to escape from my lips towards my own reflection.
They have heard my anxious whispers-
my whimpers of pain.
Yet, they do not judge.
They simply lock away everything I can never find the courage to say.