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...