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| Painting by Luca Ponsato |
I Sit With Everything I Never Said
I sit with everything I never said,
with the weight of words that burned before they reached air.
Some silences are louder than storms,
they rise from the chest
and turn thought into fire.
There is an emptiness beside me
that knows my name too well.
It doesn’t ask questions.
It simply waits.
Waiting has its own cruelty.
I have learned
that not all pain wants healing.
Some pain wants to be witnessed,
to be allowed to exist
without explanation or rescue.
Inside me, something keeps breaking open,
again and again,
as if the heart refuses to remain intact
in a world that never learned how to hold it gently.
I am not collapsing.
I am releasing.
What looks like destruction
is only truth leaving the body
in its rawest form.
If someone were to sit with me now,
they would not hear screams.
They would hear honesty.
And honesty,
when it has nowhere to go,
becomes flame.
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