I don’t talk about you.
I keep you.
The way you keep things
that hurt too much
to touch.
There are days I think of you
without meaning to,
and others when I force myself
not to,
just so I can breathe.
No one sees this emptiness
because I learned how to fold it,
how to hide it inside normal gestures,
how to call it “I’m fine”
when I’m not.
Sometimes it scares me
that my life keeps moving
without asking your permission.
As if going forward
meant leaving you behind.
And if one day I stop crying for you,
it won’t be because you stopped hurting,
but because I got tired
of bleeding in silence.
-
Author:
Lore (
Offline) - Published: January 5th, 2026 10:50
- Comment from author about the poem: For me, this poem means everything that stays inside when there’s no strength left to explain yourself. It doesn’t speak about obvious pain, but about the kind that becomes routine, the kind you learn to hide just to keep functioning. It’s a text about staying silent—not because there’s nothing to say, but because saying it is exhausting, exposing, reopening the wound. What I Don’t Say is the fear of moving forward and feeling like moving forward is the same as abandoning. It’s the constant contradiction between remembering and surviving. For me, it represents that intimate space where pain no longer looks for comfort or answers, only a place where it can exist without being judged or corrected. It doesn’t try to heal. It doesn’t try to close anything. It simply names, in a low voice, what usually stays trapped inside.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
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