No one asks the strong if they’re tired.
No one wonders
how havey the weight has become,
how many nights
they’ve drowned quietly in their own
breath,
how often they’ve wanted
someone – anyone –
to notice without having to scream.
But maybe that’s the curse of the strong:
to be needed
but never truly seen,
to be loved
for what you carry,
not for what you are,
to save everyone else
while no one remembers
to save you.
