Whispers of the Soul

PTSD

Invisible Scars

Beneath the surface, where no eyes can see,
Lie wounds that ache and bleed silently.
No bandages to wrap them, no signs to display,
Yet they throb with each heartbeat, refusing to sway.

Invisible scars map a journey untold,
In the quietest corners, where shadows unfold.
They whisper of battles fought long out of sight,
Of moments stolen by darkness, robbed of their light.

The laughter of others, like daggers in air,
Pierces through silence, a reminder of despair.
While smiles paint my face, and I walk with the crowd,
Inside, I'm a tempest, a storm unallowed.

Each triggering echo is a wound re-exposed,
Memories resurfacing, like ghosts, they imposed.
The past clings to me like a cloak made of grief,
In the stillness, it tightens, a thief of relief.

People see the laughter, the joy in my eyes,
Yet within me, a tempest of whispers and sighs.
I wear my facade like a shield made of glass,
A delicate armor that shatters so fast.

I long to reveal what I carry inside,
To share all the battles, to stop the divide.
But the fear of rejection, of judgment and scorn,
Keeps me silent, alone, in this anguish, so worn.

Yet in this quiet suffering, there's strength to be found,
In the solidarity of those who are bound.
For though scars may be hidden, they form a strong thread,
Uniting our stories, a tapestry spread.

So I'll speak for the silent, the wounded, the brave,
For every invisible scar tells a story to save.
With courage, I'll rise, let the truth take its flight,
To show the world that these scars bear the weight of my fight.