WHEN STRENGTH BLEEDS IN SILENCE

He entered love with open hands,

palms soft with promise, heart unarmored.

He learned too late that vows can bruise,

that “forever” sometimes speaks in raised voices

and silence sharp enough to draw blood.

He carries storms no one names for him—

words that belittle, glances that wound,

a home where his strength is questioned daily

even mirrors hesitate to recognize

the man he used to be.

They say a man must endure, must not break,

so he swallows grief like bitter medicine,

smiles through gatherings, pays the bills of peace,

and mourns himself quietly

when the woman he loves becomes his heaviest cross.

And still, at night, he prays without language—

for gentler mornings, for love without fear,

for a day his heart is not a battlefield.

Not because he is weak,

but because even strong men bleed in silence.