When Silence Sounds Like Home      

Not every bruise is painted blue, some live where no one ever knew. T

hey settle deep beneath your skin,

where fear and love become one thing.

They ask you softly, "Why not go?"

As if the answer's easy to know.    

As if the door is simply there,

and not built shut with grief and fear.

When all you've loved has slipped away,

you hold on tighter every day.

Because the heart, when left alone,

will call the darkest places home.    

You lost your family, piece by piece,

still searching for a little peace.

So when one soul reached out your way,

you prayed they'd never walk away.

But hands that held you through the night

could also leave your spirit slight.    

The voice that promised you the skies

could hide the deepest, darkest lies.

You learned to shrink, to stay, to cope,

mistaking fear for love and hope.

You wore the blame, you kept the peace,

believing storms would one day cease.    

The shouting slowly felt less loud,

the tears were hidden in the crowd.

The hurt became your normal view,

until you thought that pain was true.

So when they whispered, "This is wrong,"

you answered, "No... they've loved me long."     "

They've had it hard." "They didn't mean."

You couldn't face what lay between.

Because abuse wears many names,

wrapped up in guilt and endless games.

It doesn't always shout or fight,

sometimes it hides in soft "goodnights."    

You grow so used to just survive,

you forget what it means to thrive. Y

ou count the days without a scar,

instead of seeing where you are.

Then one small light breaks through the shade,

a gentle truth you cannot evade.    

A stranger's words, a caring face,

begin to fill that empty space.

The fog rolls back, the picture clears,

you finally see beyond the fears.

The love you chased, the life you knew,

was never love that sheltered you.    

The control was never care.

The silence wasn't something fair.

The fear that followed every breath

was slowly stealing life to death.

At last you speak the word aloud,

no longer hidden by the crowd.    

A painful truth... yet strangely kind.

The first to finally free your mind.

The hardest step is not to leave,

it's daring first to just believe.

Believe your story has been heard.

Believe your pain deserves a word.    

Reach out, although your voice may shake.

One small step is all it takes.

For hope begins the day you choose

to see the truth you didn't choose.

And when you walk toward help at last,

you'll find your future needn't match your past.    

Because healing starts, however slow,

the moment you decide to grow.

Not when you're fearless, strong, or free….

But when you whisper, "I deserve better than what happened to me."      

Iram Riaz