The Hidden Journal

There are things that live between my ribs.
Words that never learned how to leave gently,
so I kept them.
Tucked beneath my tongue,
folded into polite smiles,
buried under “I’m fine.”

───

Sometimes they press against my chest at night —
the unsent messages, the swallowed truths.
They hum beneath my skin
like a prayer that never found its language.

───

I used to think silence made me strong.
That if I could hold it all quietly,
no one would see how close I was to breaking.
But strength, I’m learning,
isn’t about holding it in —
it’s about letting it spill without shame.

───

So here I am,
writing the words that once trembled too much to be spoken.
Not to be heard,
but to finally stop carrying them alone.

───

Every sentence I release
makes room for breath again.
And maybe that’s what healing is —
learning to speak the things
that once kept you silent.

───

— Desiree