for the ones who carry the quiet weight
©ESR 2026

You do not have to unwrap your wounds,
set them on velvet like museum pieces,
point to each fracture and say,

“See? This is where it happened.”

You do not owe the world
a ledger of your pain.
You are not on trial
for surviving.

Your scars don’t have to be proved.
They breathe beneath your skin,
etched in places only the night knows…
they whisper their stories to your bones,
and that is enough.

Some horrors can’t be explained,
some pains exorcised to the light.

There are acts that defy morality itself,
but there will be a Madonna who listens
when the dead scream their lies
in the depth of the night.

And then there are angels,
ethereal and gold,
who hold and guard the threshold
and feel like coming home.

Not every ache must be explained.
Not every hurt needs permission
to take up space in your voice.

You are allowed
to be soft
and still be steel.

You are allowed
to be tired
and still be here.

You are allowed
to not remember everything,
but still feel it all.

And if someone dares to ask
for a map of your bruises,
let your silence be thunder.

Let your breath be the storm.
Let your existence be the loudest answer.
Because you’re still standing.

And love,
that is the proof.