Words That I Never Express: Remembered Silence By Ink Soul Poem by Ink Soul

Words That I Never Express: Remembered Silence by Ink Soul

I do not write to be remembered.
I write because memory aches in silence—
because pain untold becomes a wound that never heals,
because there are stories too sacred for speech
but too alive to be forgotten.

I do not craft poems.
I unearth them—
from the soil of solitude,
from the ashes of unspoken dreams,
from the quiet chambers of my chest
where words once curled like children
afraid of the dark.

Ink is my witness.
Language—my inheritance.
Each line I write is a breath I once held back,
a truth I swallowed to keep someone else from breaking.
But I broke anyway—
softly, silently,
like glass kissed by time.

I do not speak for the moment.
I speak for the silence that survives it.
I write for the souls who speak in sighs,
who cry behind closed doors,
who rewrite conversations at 2 a.m.
hoping to be heard by ghosts.

These poems are not polished.
They are not perfect.
They are pieces of me—
fragile, frayed, and honest.
They carry the weight of nights I couldn't sleep,
the echoes of names I still whisper
in the language of loss.

For the ones who love deeply
but never say it enough—
this is for you.
For the quiet warriors
who stitched themselves together with trembling hands,
this is your hymn.
For the ones who survived
without ever being asked how—
you are seen.

These words are the ones I buried
when the world demanded silence.
The grief I folded beneath my smile.
The longing I let go
before it had a name.

Now, they are yours.

If you find yourself in these pages,
if your heart beats where mine once broke,
then know—
you were never alone.
Not in your silence.
Not in your softness.
Not in the storm.

I do not seek immortality.
I breathe it
into each verse
that dares to feel.

Maybe one day I'll write more.
Or maybe silence
was the poem all along.

Until we meet again,
stay gentle.
Stay human.
Stay.

Because the end
is not silence.
The end is
release.
Not goodbye—
but peace.