There’s a fire I keep banked low,
its heat barely visible, simmering,
and I tell myself it’s fine,
that I can carry it quietly,
hold it close like a secret.

I meet the world with steady eyes,
a careful smile, my voice soft
a thousand polite nods and “of course”
while inside, something feral presses,
writhes against the chains I’ve made.

There are words that pulse against my tongue,
sharp as glass, wanting release,
but I swallow them, tuck them away
where no one can see the jagged edges,
the red-rimmed thoughts that bite.

It’s exhausting to be pleasant,
to hold back the storm,
to keep every edge dulled, every glance soft.
I move carefully, wrapped in practiced patience,
my anger like a live wire, muted.

I wonder if they see it
the flicker in my eyes, the set of my jaw
or if they only see the quiet facade,
the one who’s always agreeable,
who says the right things at the right time.

Inside, I am wild with words unspoken,
a voice screaming behind closed doors,
a river rushing against its banks,
straining for the moment it might spill
over and finally flood.


© Azz_lia