I Cry
I don’t cry because I’m weak—
I cry because I’ve seen
what rage inside me turns into
when it goes unseen.
It doesn’t scream, it doesn’t shout,
it waits beneath my skin—
a quiet kind of violence
that begs to be let in.
So I turn fire into water,
let it fall before it breaks,
’cause I know what I’m capable of
when anger fully wakes.
You call it “too emotional,”
like tears are something earned—
but I cry to keep the peace…
I cry so I don’t burn.
---
I learned young to disappear,
to shrink inside a room,
to make myself feel smaller
so I didn’t bring the gloom.
An extra seat at dinner,
an extra voice unheard—
not hated, just forgotten,
like a background, blurry word.
I wasn’t worth attention,
wasn’t worth the time or care,
just a body in the household
taking up some air.
So silence became safety,
and distance was my turn—
’cause if they never saw me,
then I wouldn’t be a burden.
---
My “friends” were just a season,
they stayed until replaced,
the moment love walked in their lives,
I vanished without trace.
I was never someone chosen,
never someone they would keep,
just a placeholder for better things
they’d promise, then not keep.
Left on read, left out,
left alone inside the blur—
I was always just the “before,”
never something that could last or occur.
They moved on like I was nothing,
like I was just a turn—
and I swallowed all that anger…
let it ache, let it burn.
---
I had a dream I loved once—
something that felt like me,
but love requires attention
and time I’d never see.
They said I never practiced,
said I never even tried,
but I worked in silent corners
where my effort had to hide.
I gave it up completely,
’cause what was I to prove?
When no one ever looked enough
to see the things I’d do.
So I buried what I wanted,
let that passion slowly burn—
’cause dreams don’t grow in places
where no one will return.
---
At twelve I stared at doorways,
wondered if I’d leave,
if anyone would notice—
if anyone would grieve.
Would silence feel much different?
Would absence change a thing?
Or would the house feel lighter
without the weight I bring?
---
At fourteen held a blade up,
pressed cold against my skin,
not because I wanted death—
just wanted peace within.
I didn’t want to vanish,
I just didn’t want the ache,
of living like a ghost
no one cared enough to take.
---
Two parents, two directions,
and I was stuck between—
listening to the damage
spoken loud and mean.
One spoke down about the other,
like I wasn’t even there,
and the one who should’ve stopped it
just pretended not to care.
So I carried all their hatred,
let it settle, let it churn—
and I learned to hold it in…
or watch the whole world burn.
---
So I cry.
Not because I’m fragile—
but because I’m in control,
because I’ve seen what happens
when that darkness takes my soul.
I’ve felt my body shaking,
felt that line begin to blur—
and I’d rather drown in sorrow
than become what I once were.
---
I am not weak—I’m guarded,
I am not soft—I’m tight,
I am not broken pieces—
I just choose not to fight.
I am pressure in a bottle,
I am calm before the turn—
I am everything destructive…
that decided not to burn.
---
And maybe one day someone
will finally understand—
how much I kept from breaking
everything within my hands.
Not “too much,” not “too broken,”
not “too hard to ever learn”—
just a girl who learned to cry…
so she wouldn’t have to burn.
K
I Cry
