Sound of Silence

The scattered pieces of a shattered soul who cracked and broke in little ways, collected, and preserved between the pages.

We don’t break from an earth-shattering blow. We are already broken before the hammer falls.

We are chipped away slowly, sliver by sliver over time, long before the final blow, that shatters the pieces we are barely holding together in hopes of pretending to be whole.

We don’t break from deadly blades, but poisonous smiles and patronizing pats on the back. We break with every expectation, with every consolation.

The gaping wounds on our soul can be sewn up and healed over time.

What really breaks us are the millions of papercuts, often ignored and shoved aside, opened up with every tiny hurt again and again, that won’t ever heal.

One tiny papercut is an inconvenience, two irritation, three uncomfortable, four painful, but when the entire expanse of your skin is carved up in a map of winding maze where you are locked inside, couldn’t shout scream rage explode fight; just silently endure the tornado building up within you that would tear you apart from the inside, you have truly lost your way to your own self.

These are tiny bits of that storm bleeding out slowly through the confusing mazes and locked cages.

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