When She Finally Asked
On the cost of one honest sentence, and the long return to silence after.
STILL JUNE · THE QUIET KIND OF STRONG · PART III OF VI · A POEMShe didn’t mean to say it out loud.
But it slipped.
Soft as breath.
“I’m not okay.”
Or maybe it wasn’t even that.
Maybe just
“I’m tired.”
“I don’t feel like myself.”
“I don’t know.”
The way women do
when they are trying to fall apart
politely.
She wasn’t asking for rescue.
Only to be noticed.
To be held like something
fragile.
Like something worth soft hands
and stillness.
But the room shifted.
A pause too long.
A sigh too sharp.
A glance that searched for
the nearest exit.
And in that moment
she knew.
The mask was safer.
The ache less costly when buried.
So she nodded.
Said “never mind.”
Laughed, maybe.
Changed the subject.
She is fluent in disappearing.
Later, she will hold herself
the way she wished someone had.
Arms crossed tight,
knees pulled in,
face to the wall.
She will learn again
that asking
is not the same
as being answered.
That even the softest plea
can echo in an empty room.
So she folds the softness away.
Tucks it behind her teeth.
And the next time they ask,
she smiles
like nothing ever happened.
Because once you’ve learned
that your unraveling
makes people look away,
you stop unraveling
where anyone can see you.
STILL JUNE · FROM A SERIES OF SEVEN · DEC 2025 – JAN 2026
❤️