Between Bruises & Blooms

I carry pain quietly,
not because it is small,
but because I grew up believing
that loud pain
made people leave.
So I learned
to fold heartbreak
into laundry,
to hide grief
behind coffee cups,
to smile
while my hands shook.
The world applauds
the people
who suffer silently,
never noticing
the weight
of everything
they never say.
My storms
have always happened
underneath my skin,
where no one
hears the thunder.
There are days
I laugh so convincingly
that even I
almost believe it.
But quiet
does not mean healed.
Silence
does not mean empty.
It simply means
I became fluent
in surviving
without asking
to be seen.
And maybe,
one day,
I will set this burden down
without apologizing
for how heavy
it always was.