They don't really know you

You see people,

they don’t really know you.

They see the smile, the small talk,

but not the silence after.

Not the hours spent hiding.

I’ve been sleeping all day,

shutting myself in my room

like the walls can keep me safe.

I try to distract myself,

scroll, stare, drift

anything to drown out what I’m feeling.

I forget to eat.

I forget to sleep.

I forget what I promised myself.

Something is wrong.

I know it.

I feel it every time I wake up heavier than before.

Do I need help?

Should I ask for it?

Or should you have noticed?

Did you check on me?

Did you even look close enough to see

Or was I too quiet, too good at hiding,

too practiced at making pain look small?

Did you feel it?

That something is off,

that my laughter doesn’t reach my eyes,

that my silence is screaming?

Or maybe you didn’t

Maybe it’s my fault.

Maybe I should’ve been louder,

should’ve cried in the open,

should’ve let the ache spill out

instead of folding it neatly inside myself.

Right,

I should’ve been more obvious.

But I didn’t know how.

I never do.

So here I am,

suffocating in plain sight,

while the world carries on

like nothing is breaking.

But isn’t it strange?

The way we beg to be seen

without saying a word.

The way we hope someone will just know

without us having to 

break ourselves open

to prove we’re breaking.

-dmnd