I laid my hands upon the altar,
knuckles bruised from silent prayers,
whispers turned to fleeting echoes,
lost among the empty air.

I built you bridges out of marrow,
stitched the stars into your sky,
gave you light when nights were hollow,
yet you never asked me why.

My name fades in nameless hours,
scattered like the autumn leaves,
a monument of quiet labor
built for those who never grieve.

And still, I stand, arms outstretched,
woven from the threads of care.
The world moves on—I disappear,
a ghost who gave, yet none were there.

She doesn’t confess her feelings,
Her thoughts,
Or likes to even converse.

It’s not like she doesn’t try,
She can write it, speak it, and some times scream it.
But still she is dismissed.

Never actually heard.
Never truly seen.
Never to speak again.

So she’ll sit there,
Fake a smile and make agreement noise here and there.
But no one will hear her voice, because now she’s silent.