I used to talk too much.
Nowadays, I just sit in silence.
I want to tell everyone how I’m feeling—
I want to talk about everything.
But when the time comes,
“nothing comes out of my mouth—
nothing I truly want to talk about.”
So I speak of daily things,
of weather, work, what we ate.
I nod. I listen. I float.
But my soul—
“my soul wants to say something,
But I shut myself down.”
Inside me,
there’s a scream that no one hears.
It claws the walls of my chest,
cries in pain, grief, sadness—
like it’s been caged for years.
There is a trench,
deep and echoing,
carved by time and distance—
“created throughout the years of my life.”
While many grew
in the warmth of their parents’ arms,
“I spent my childhood far from them.”
I learned how to be silent
before I ever learned how to speak.
I feel emotions.
“I just don’t know how to express them.”
And when I try—
when I dare—
“it goes horribly wrong.”
I want to open up.
I want to tell someone.
I want to say:
This is how I feel.
Please understand.
Please stay.
“But when I do, everything goes south.”
So I quieted myself.
I taught my voice to whisper,
then to vanish.
I tried—
“and still try—
to talk less, to stay silent.”
But the silence isn’t peace.
It’s pressure.
It’s weight.
“I failed before,
and I’m still failing.”
Now I don’t know what to do anymo'.
I am deep below my own trench,
and still falling into the deep, dark below.
Will I ever hit the bottom?
The point where there’s no further down—
only up? I know I feel like a clown.
But still,
No more confusion.
No more sadness.
Only hope and happiness, I guess.
Peace of mind.
With all the past behind.
I feel lost. I don't feel like me.
I feel like I’m falling.
I feel empty inside me.
- THE END -
© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
A poem from the heart of the fall—when you're too deep to see the surface, but still quietly holding out for light. Written from a place of despair, and maybe… the start of healing.
