I was born into a house of echoes,
words that cut sharper than silence,
where love felt like thorns hidden in roses.
They spoke of family
as if it were a gentle thing,
yet the air was thick with unsaid anger,
walls absorbing wounds left unhealed.
Laughter felt foreign,
like a language, I could never learn.
Every hug, a hollow performance,
every smile, a mask.
In rooms dimmed by distrust,
I grew like a weed, reaching for the light
that never found its way in.
I taught myself to stay small,
to fold into corners,
to let their words rain down like stones,
until I became numb to the bruises.
Alone in a crowd that should have been comfort,
I learned that family could be strangers
who share blood but nothing of the heart.
Some nights I dream of leaving,
of cutting roots that never nourished,
of finding a sky where I can breathe.
But here I am, rooted in their shadows,
a tree grown in darkness,
longing for a forest that understands silence,
where I can finally spread my limbs
and feel the warmth of something real.
.
.
.
.
.
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Unheard Cries
PoetryUnheard Cries is a collection of raw and intimate poetry that delves into hidden chambers of pain, sorrow, and silent suffering. Each piece speaks to the deeply buried emotions, the tears that fall unseen, and the battles fought in solitude. This bo...
