May 20
🩸
We all have wounds.
Not all of them
show blood
trickling on the skin
those are the lesser ones.
The body heals.
Scabs form.
Scars fade.
But some wounds
bleed a different kind of red
silent,
invisible,
constant.
They live beneath smiles,
hide behind handshakes,
and echo
in quiet rooms.
No bandage fits them.
No doctor sees them.
And yet,
they shape us more
than any knife ever could.
We all have wounds.
Not all of them
show blood
trickling on the skin
those are the lesser ones.
The body heals.
Scabs form.
Scars fade.
But some wounds
bleed a different kind of red
silent,
invisible,
constant.
They live beneath smiles,
hide behind handshakes,
and echo
in quiet rooms.
No bandage fits them.
No doctor sees them.
And yet,
they shape us more
than any knife ever could.
This poem explores the unseen nature of emotional and psychological pain. While physical wounds are acknowledged and treated, the deeper, invisible ones often go unnoticed, yet they linger far longer and shape who we become.
