Whispers Do Not Reach Me

Until you speak my name

and place the truth before me,

your grievance is not mine to carry.

What you whisper in shadowed rooms,

what you assume in silence,

what you offer to everyone but me

belongs only to you.

I do not answer echoes.

I do not stand trial

in conversations where I was never present.

If the wound is deep enough

to speak of me,

then let it be brave enough

to speak to me.

Until then,

this is not conflict.

It is fear dressed as certainty

avoidance wearing confidence

like a borrowed crown.