The things we carry
that no one sees –
shackles bound to my ankles,
begging to be set free.

I walk through crowds like
nothing is broken,
but inside,
the weight sings in
shattered glass
and forgotten promises.

each step scrapes
against each version of me
I’ve buried
in shallow graves
beneath my ribs.

they whisper and screech
while I sleep.
I’ve tried to forget –
truths I’ll never get to outrun.

some wounds don’t close –
they learn to dress themselves
and rot beneath the skin.

– June 11th, 2025
11:47 p.m.