The Mask of Silence

I swallowed words until they turned to stone,

heavy in the throat,

silent in the room.

Silence became my costume,

stitched from fear of disbelief,

woven from the dread of being called cruel.

I wore quiet like a second skin,

a mask that hid the storm,

a mask that kept me small.

But silence corrodes.

It eats at the edges of truth.

It betrays the voice that longs to rise.

And when the mask slips,

the words spill jagged,

unsoftened,

unapologetic.

I am not cruel.

I am not broken.

I am a voice—

a storm,

a reckoning.