Unseenwounds Stories

They say I changed... but no one saw me breaking. They say I don't care... but I was dying inside while living for them. These poems are not just words - they are pieces of my heart I couldn't speak out loud. For the ones who smile in crowds but cry in silence, For those who stand like a rock in front of others but fall apart in lonely rooms... This is not just poetry - This is a mirror for every silent warrior who's been misunderstood, unloved, and unseen. Read if you've ever felt the weight of unspoken pain.

Just another book of poetry 'if you can call it that'

Not all scars live on skin. Some linger in quiet moments, stitched into silence, tucked behind smiles, or whispered into the night. A Thousand Unseen Scars is a journey through the hidden fractures that shape us, the heartbreaks endured quietly, the dreams left behind and resilience found in surviving both. These pages don't glorify the wounds but honor the stories they tell, proving that even the deepest scars can become maps to something whole.

I stood there, watching life and death blur together in a room full of silence. Four girls, cutting into their own arms like it was just another day. Their blood fresh, sharp, raw - and nobody around them noticing. Their mother, a shadow of a woman, moving through the world like she's already dead. Eyes vacant, slow steps, a heart seemingly frozen by numbness. At one point, I said, "I know that's your baby," and she smiled - a small, broken smile showing the gaps where her teeth used to be. For a second I saw she cared. I told her, "Keep your daughter close. This is urgent." She looked like a ghost, like a nurse who's seen too much, like she'd forgotten how to feel. And I felt the weight of the system failing, the adults failing, the world failing them. There I was, drowning in the depth of my own anxiety and depression, standing as the only lifeline I could offer. I've never seen anything like it - kids showing their cuts like trophies, like normal, like nobody cares. A young girl hugged me like I was hope itself. Another told me her friend overdosed, and it shook me to the core. This is a story of pain and raw reality. Of a world that ignores its own children. Of survival in silence. Of seeing things no one else can see. Brace yourself. Feel it. Every drop of it.

I grew up in a house that looked whole from the outside but inside, it was built on silence, fear, and unspoken rules. My father left without goodbye, running from the consequences of his own sins. He left us with nothing but broken promises and a quiet storm. And when he disappeared, my mother changed. Soft hands became strict voices. Gentle hugs turned into curfews and warnings. I wasn't punished with bruises but with limitations. I could go out, but not too often. I could speak, but not always be heard. I could live... but never on my own terms. To my mother, it was protection. But to me, it felt like punishment for something I didn't do. And in that house, being the eldest daughter came with expectations: Be strong. Be silent. Be perfect. Don't talk back. Don't ask too many questions. And whatever you do don't be like your father. Every day, I learned to lie. I smiled when I was hurting. I agreed when I wanted to scream. I stayed even when all I wanted was to run. Because in our home, emotions were unsafe. Dreams were too risky. And wanting more was... forbidden. I wasn't looking for love. I was looking for space to breathe. A life not ruled by fear. A place where I could finally say: "I am not my father's sin. I deserve to live freely."