“Pain Is Personal”
Pain is personal —
it cannot be shared, explained, or balanced.
It sits quietly inside,
like an unhealed wound wrapped in duty.
The untold pain of childhood —
when silence feels safer than truth.
Why is a child’s voice so feared by parents?
Why are questions called disrespect,
and achievements met with doubt instead of pride?
Why does love sound like an order,
and care feel like control?
Why must I hide my happiness,
because even joy is questioned,
never celebrated?
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Every missed call is a sin,
every check a reminder
that I owe you my every breath.
Your voice trembles with worry,
but your eyes hold judgment.
Your love doesn’t calm me anymore —
it makes my heart race.
When the phone rings,
I already know:
I am wrong again.
Daily checks, daily questions —
your love has turned into a cage.
I never stepped beyond the walls,
yet you built more around me.
I stopped feeling safe in your care.
I stopped calling it home.
Because your love counts my steps,
measures my mistakes,
and calls it protection.
Sometimes, I wish to disappear —
to live one day
without the noise of your worry.
Not because I don’t love you,
but because I can’t breathe
under your love anymore.
