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Never Heard

It’s staggering how some people can dismiss another’s pain with such ease. How do we keep going when our truths are met with mockery and indifference?


How does it feel to mock my cries?
To twist my pain into casual lies?
While I bled my truth with a trembling pen,
You called it envy—not again, not again.

It wasn’t their faces that haunted my mind,
But the stories they shared that you’d readily find.
Theirs were believed, held soft and dear,
While mine dissolved into silence and sneer.

And when, at last, I summoned my voice,
Bravely broke through the noise—my only choice,
You laughed, you pitied, offered no embrace,
Just an empty shrug in a hollow space.

So I buried it deep, let the midnight bell toll,
Screams turned inward, a rent in my soul.
A living hell, where shadows prey,
While I wore strength-like armour each day.

But strength gave way to the endless night,
Pressure and silence dimmed my light.
When I showed you the depths of my aching core,
You laughed, then whispered, "Let me go."

How does it feel, I wonder still,
To leave a soul with a void to fill?
To watch someone crumble, yet turn away—
But I’ll rise again. You’ll hear me one day.


Is there ever a moment of reckoning for those who treat others’ pain as something to be shrugged off? When will they truly hear us?

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