Letter I Never Sent to God

Truth Unspoken.

Yesterday struck with ruthless hands,
Today just staresit
And tomorrow hides in lines of verse,
A fate I carry.

It wasn’t lost, nor free of pain,
It didn’t break
No scream, no song, no whispered name
It turned to ash,
yet stayed the same.

It once had wings
so soft, so wide,
But longing crushed them from
The inside.
It never called, it never pled,
It turned to stone
And hard as bone.

It turned numb.
It unsaid everything
it once begged to be heard.

I'm speaking of my soul.......

This is no prayer, nor a plea
This is an autopsy
Of me.

Can silence bleed?
Can numbness cry?
Can someone live, truly?
yet wish to die?
Can you feel how heavy it is
to feel nothing at all?
Or is feeling too human
for the heavens to hold?
I asked, "Why me?"....
You’d answer, “Why not?”
I was certain.
They say
You test the ones
You love.
I wanted peace, a book, a bed
Storms and knives rained down instead.
Now, I am cutting my ribs open
just to show You
how the light leaks out
You let the sky release its flood,
But taught me how to drink my blood.

Perhaps I’ll vanish in the crowd,
With eyes still bright,
but dreams not loud.
A smile to mask the dying sun,
While lives could live
But none begun.

What did I do, what price I owe?
I feel no joy for days ahead,
Just haunted echoes of what's dead.

I cannot see the bright future
they preach in pretty quotes.

You wear silence
as though a divine crown
And I became
a silent suffering
draped in skin.
I wear mine to weigh me down.
I filled these pages, drenched in black,
The stage was lit, the curtains grand,
A thousand eyes, a trembling hand.
But somewhere in the shift of grace,
The thread pulled wrong
And snapped my face.

My limbs collapsed in silent grief,
I wasn’t meant to break like this,
Not mid-performance.
Not like this.
I wanted to become clouds
on a twilight sky,
bruised with purples, blues
I wanted to float light like feathers that forgot
what falling meant.
I want to be redwood,
raised sky-high

I want to build a castle in the sky
not with stone,
but with clouds
I buried under sighs.

My anxiety will lay the bricks,
my traumas will carve the halls,
and every staircase will creak
with memories that still crawl.

I’ll be the petite queen
of a place no one sees
wearing a crown of insomnia,
and a gown stitched from apologies.

My castle walls are painted in shades
of burnt-out hope
rusting red, ashen gray and old bruised blue.
My friends are just shadows
made from echoes of laughter I never knew.

The chandelier swings,
each crystal a regret.
And the floor hums softly
with words I never said.

This is the palace of the almosts,
the kingdom of the not-quite-enough.
I sit in silence with my broken dolls,
their smiles sewn shut.
I wanted to not care.
But I still do
and that’s the curse
of those who dream
while drowning too

Place wound to wound, and if You dare,
Let silence be the answer there.

Here’s my last word, my final breath
Not full of praise
The envelope is bare,
unread.
But holds the ink of
my silence bled.

You’ll find me where the echoes live,
Where lost hopes still forgive
Still waiting, beneath Your name,
At every ‘amen’ that never came.