Mute Shout

In a secret niche, a recondite place,
I stored the words that I heard.
The hurtful words, said on my face,
And the ones shout to the curb.

One day I felt tired and weary,
My shoulders heavy and painful.
The words I had heard in fury,
Were now weighing in my soul.

Looking in the mirror I could see
The effects of words in my life.
The ones I thought forgotten by me
Were still cutting as a knife.

I then decided to myself undress
Of hurt and sorrow, and dark cloaks.
These were all adding to my distress,
As I solely carried my heavy load.

So I stood, by me and myself,
The inner struggle, the mute shout.
The drops of rain I finally felt,
As I learned to undress alone in a crowd.