I finally said my peace,
laid my heart on the table
like a fragile glass cup
waiting to see if you would hold it
or watch it fall.
For so long
my feelings lived in a locked room,
quiet, suffocating,
burning slowly like a candle
that nobody noticed melting.
I thought speaking
would be freedom.
I thought truth
would feel like air in my lungs.
But your weak response
thin as paper,
careless as wind
dragged me back
to the storm I had just escaped.
Now the rage
is louder than before.
Maybe silence
would have been kinder to me.
Maybe some feelings
are meant to stay buried,
like letters never sent,
like candles that burn alone
in empty rooms.
And yet
somewhere in the smoke
of everything I said,
I know this much:
A heart that speaks
may break louder,
but at least
it refuses to die quietly.
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 6:13 PM UTC
I finally said my peace,
laid my heart on the table
like a fragile glass cup
waiting to see if you would hold it
or watch it fall.
For so long
my feelings lived in a locked room,
quiet, suffocating,
burning slowly like a candle
that nobody noticed melting.
I thought speaking
would be freedom.
I thought truth
would feel like air in my lungs.
But your weak response
thin as paper,
careless as wind
dragged me back
to the storm I had just escaped.
Now the rage
is louder than before.
Maybe silence
would have been kinder to me.
Maybe some feelings
are meant to stay buried,
like letters never sent,
like candles that burn alone
in empty rooms.
And yet
somewhere in the smoke
of everything I said,
I know this much:
A heart that speaks
may break louder,
but at least
it refuses to die quietly.
