Sometimes,
our faces betray the wars within,
a silent rebellion of muscles and skin—
sadness etched so perfectly
it speaks louder than words.

And they say,
"You’re changing."
But how do you explain the ache
of building a world inside yourself?
A place where happiness tiptoes,
fragile and fleeting,
hidden beneath the shield you wear.

What they see is not the truth,
only the armor—
a mask forged from silence,
held together by the fear
of breaking it too soon.

And yet, there comes a moment,
when even the shield cracks.
When I turn to my inner voice,
that stubborn overseer,
and say:
"Mr. Consciousness, do your work.
Strip me bare. Let them see."

Because sometimes,
even the dumb silence of trying
is its own kind of strength. (Me helped by conci):