The unsaid

1 min read

Just now

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I hate how sensitive I am,
how my tears spill faster than my words,
like my heart speaks in water
when my mouth fails to translate pain.
They call me arrogant, rude, aggressive
labels thrown before questions are asked.
But no one pauses to see
the quiet kindness stitched into my silence.
Do they know I stay
when everyone else leaves?
That I listen, really listen,
to stories people never dare to say out loud?
I talk about life like it’s a fragile miracle,
I dream like tomorrow is mine to build.
Yet brick by brick,
the world designed a version of me
I never consented to become.
From childhood, they shaped my skin
with expectations, judgments, and misunderstandings,
and now I wear a personality
that sometimes feels heavier than my own bones.
I hate how easily I forget the hurt,
how one gentle tone
can erase a thousand cruel memories.
I forgive too fast, trust too deep,
and love too honestly.
Maybe that’s my flaw.
Or maybe that’s my magic.