The Weight of Silence #

the silence sits heavy in my chest,
a thousand unspoken words, pressing, waiting.
my breath, caught in the tangle of unsaid truths—
your words, though quiet now, still carve deep,
and i love you,
though i wish i didn’t.
you say the sight of me gnaws at your sanity,
and each time i try to explain,
you tell me to shut up,
to shorten my words,
to speak in a language too concise for my tangled thoughts.
but how can i condense my mind
when even i can’t find the right words?
i yearn for you to listen—
to just listen to anything i say,
but you haven’t for years.
instead, you scold me for things i didn’t do,
and when i beg to explain,
you turn away.
and now, i try not to speak at all.
you say my friends will use me, discard me,
but they listen,
they hear the words you never have.
they’re not family—
not what family’s supposed to be—
but they don’t ask me to shrink,
to fold myself into the silence.
you hate them,
you hate me,
you hate every breath i take,
every word i speak.
and still, i love you.
it twists me inside,
in ways i’ll never untangle,
in silence that only grows heavier.
would you find peace at last,
if i faded into nothing?
if i gave in to the quiet you demand,
would you stop carrying this weight of me?
i have so much to say,
but no one to say it to.
so i swallow it,
again and again,
until the silence consumes me whole.