Unseen Wounds

I’m so mad. I feel it in every part of me—my chest, my stomach, my hands. It twists and burns, and I can’t shake it. I can’t say it, I can’t do anything about it, and that makes it worse. I just sit with it, letting it live inside me, heavy and real.

Why does it feel so unfair? Why do the choices being made hurt the ones I love? I can’t fix it. I can’t control it. And that helplessness… it makes the anger even louder. It’s not just anger—it’s frustration, it’s hurt, it’s love screaming in silence.

I replay it over and over in my head. I imagine saying things I’ll never say. I imagine standing up, demanding things, but the world doesn’t work that way. So the fire stays. It rages quietly. It’s mine. And I have to hold it without letting it break me.

I pray in my own way, even when I don’t have words. I let this anger, this rawness, be carried by something bigger than me. Because if I hold it alone, it will destroy me.

I am angry. I am frustrated. I am hurting. And I am still here. Breathing. Feeling. Holding on. That is enough.