The rooms where you didn't scream

There are rooms you walked through in silence.

You could have screamed. But you shut your mouth.

You let the pain seep into the

walls, that the heart would crumble into a

silent grammar.

You didn't want to disturb.

You didn't want to look weak.

You didn't want to lose someone.

So you lost you.

Now those rooms inhabit you.

They speak in dreams.

They resonate in the bodies you touch,

In the sentences you don't say,

In every gesture that denies you without reason.

Yet, somewhere,

there is still a point of time

To which you can return.

Not to explain.

But to shout.

Finally.

With all the voice you've been holding back.