Breaking Without Sound

I don’t always have words for it…
the way my body feels like it’s carrying something too heavy to name.

It’s not always loud.
Sometimes it’s just there
a quiet ache in my chest,
like my heart forgot how to rest.

I smile, and it holds.
I talk, and it holds.
But inside, something trembles
like I’m made of glass trying not to break in public.

My body feels tired in a way sleep can’t fix.
Like even my bones are thinking too much.
Like even my silence has weight.

And I don’t always cry where people can see it…
it comes later, when everything is finally quiet,
when I don’t have to pretend I’m okay anymore.

That’s when it spills out
not like a storm,
but like something that’s been waiting too long to be felt.

And I sit there, breathing through it,
wondering how something so invisible
can hurt this much.