I Felt Like I've Had Yellow Tears Before It Existed. The Scars And All,

"Before Yellow Had a Name"

My pain-it's not loud.
It doesn't scream or shatter glass.
It just sits there,
in the corners of my smile,
in the silence between my words.

I want to tell people.
God, I want to.
But my mouth always gets caught on the wrong syllables,
and my voice folds in on itself
before it ever reaches the air.

So I write.
Because paper doesn't flinch.
Because ink doesn't interrupt.
Because maybe if I bleed between the lines,
someone might finally see me.

I feel like I cried yellow tears
before yellow even existed.
Before anyone gave it a name.
Before people knew that joy could look like pain
and a smile could mean "I'm not okay."

My yellow tears ran
when the world thought I was fine.
When I laughed in rooms
and died in hallways.
When no one looked twice,
because the bruises were invisible.

And maybe that's why I write.
Not for answers.
But so someone-anyone-
might read the ache
and finally believe it.