Art without the frame

There’s a silence that follows a name not called, A stillness where echoes once bravely stood tall. Not anger, not sorrow—just quiet resign, A lesson learned softly, one thread at a time. The art, they say, is in how you remain, When doors don’t open and love won’t explain. You smile with grace though your hands feel cold, Carrying stories you’ll never be told. No spotlight lingers, no petals fall, No one rushes when you stall. Yet still, you rise, you breathe, you mend— Mastering how to lose like a friend. To not be chosen, yet still stay kind, Is a strength that shatters and redefines. There’s courage in standing, unseen, unheard— In turning your silence into a word. And so you walk, heart made of flame, Becoming art—without the frame.