Silent Noise

She screams without a sound—
in supermarket aisles where tantrums bloom,
in midnight halls where fever burns,
in empty rooms where children leave.

Her body bears the quiet wars:
stretch marks like battle scars,
sleepless nights that line her eyes,
hands that ache from holding on.

The world sees only her composure,
the smile she wears like armor,
while inside, a symphony of worry
crashes louder than any storm.

She is the worry no one hears,
the exhaustion no one sees,
the love that breaks her open
while she stands, unbreaking,
for everyone but herself.

This is her silent noise—
deafening, relentless, invisible.
A roar the world calls whisper.
A breaking the world calls strong.