Muted Screams #

words spill out of me,
heavy with meaning, but weightless when they land.
they say i talk too much.
maybe it’s true,
maybe i fill the silence with things
i hope will make me feel less invisible.
but when i speak,
it’s like the air turns solid,
a glass wall between me and them.
i shout, but the sound vanishes before it can return,
like it’s caught, wrapped up in a thick fog.
it’s muffled—
like there’s a hand pressed over my mouth,
one i never asked for.
around me, people move,
caught up in their own currents,
their days spilling over with things to do, things to worry about.
i get it—sonder.
i know i’m just a flicker in the long reel of their lives.
but it doesn’t stop the sting
when i give everything i have
to be heard,
and all i get is a glance,
a nod,
a door half-shut before i even finish.
i try to reach through—
but the glass is too thick.
i’m stuck at the edge of their world,
a shadow no one’s looking for.
they say they care,
but only when there’s a break in their routines,
in the spaces between their scrolling,
their endless lists.
i can’t help but wonder—am i anything more than a passing echo?
or just a noise
that slips away
the second they turn their heads?
the silence after i speak feels colder.
i scream, but the void swallows every sound.
i’m left alone with the echo of words
no one wanted to hear.
it hurts.
but maybe it hurts more
because i can’t stop trying.