#liquified

A/n: just a small poem i wrote while trying to sleep but not only being able to.

~~~

They never saw it as rage.

Not when it slid down my face

like silence turned to water.

But it was.

It is.

Anger doesn’t always shout—

sometimes it drips,

salted and slow,

a storm disguised as sorrow.

I burned quietly.

No outburst,

no wreckage.

Only the sting behind my eyes

and the weight in my chest

pressing like a scream with nowhere to go.

This is how fury survives

when it has no room to live—

it softens.

It leaks.

It becomes the tear

you wipe away before anyone sees,

pretending it’s sadness.

But it isn’t.

It’s what’s left

when you've held in too much

for too long.

Somewhere,

there’s a fallen angel

curled in shadow,

not out of shame—

but exhaustion.

One hand to his face,

not hiding,

just holding in

everything no one let him speak.

And I think

maybe we are the same.

Not broken.

Just burning too quietly