The Stanger Within Me

There is a stranger within me,

not one who arrived suddenly,

but one who grew

in the quiet spaces I neglected.

They carry a heavy soul,

weighted with things unnamed,

with feelings that never found language,

with storms that learned

to exist without thunder.

My heart,

it broke somewhere along the way.

Not in one clean fracture,

but in quiet splinters,

spreading beneath the surface

until even breathing

felt like holding pieces together.

And still,

this stranger stayed.

They do not speak much.

In fact,

their mouth is quiet,

sealed with unspoken truths,

stitched shut

by all the times silence felt safer

than honesty.

To the world,

they seem calm.

Composed.

Almost distant.

But silence

is not the absence of noise.

Inside,

they are loud.

Deep secrets within,

loud reminder daily.

Their thoughts echo

like footsteps in an empty hall.

Their intentions burn

like fire without light,

felt, not seen,

dangerous in their invisibility.

This stranger

knows things I refuse to admit.

Knows the anger

I bury beneath politeness.

Knows the pain

I disguise as strength.

Knows the darkness

I pretend does not belong to me.

They watch.

They wait.

They grow.

And sometimes,

in moments I cannot control,

they almost take over.

In a glance too sharp.

In a word too cold.

In a silence that stretches

longer than it should.

I feel them then,

closer than ever.

A reflection

I do not recognize,

yet cannot deny.

Because the truth is,

this stranger is not separate from me.

They are made

of everything I hid,

everything I suppressed,

everything I refused to feel.

A soul made heavy

by what was never released.

A heart made broken

by what was never healed.

And though they walk quietly,

though their mouth remains still,

their intentions speak

in ways words never could.

So I live with them.

This stranger within.

Not fully understood.

Not fully accepted.

But always there,

a silent presence

carrying a noise

only I can hear.