What I Carry

It doesn’t shout, it whispers low, A quiet weight I never chose. It hides in shadows, clings to skin, A ghost that lives deep within. Some days I smile, pretend I’m fine, While pain knots tight along my spine. A laugh, a word, a passing face— Can drag me back to that broken place. It changes form but never leaves, It steals my nights, it haunts my dreams. A trigger fires, I flinch, I freeze, My body locked, begging for ease. People say, “Just let it go,” But they don’t know what I know. It’s not just thought—it’s muscle, breath, It’s memory stitched too close to death. But still I rise, though not untouched, Though bruised, though battered, still I clutch A flicker of light, a thread of grace— The hope that healing finds its place. Trauma’s real, but so am I— And every day, I still try.