They mocked
the way they walked,
spoke,
loved.
The cruelty
was constant,
in corridors,
in comments,
in quiet glances
that screamed.
But they didn’t cry out.
They swallowed the shame,
wore silence
like armour
that cracked
slowly
every day.
No warnings.
No notes.
Just a moment
too heavy to carry.
An empty chair.
A message left on read.
A light
gone out
without a sound.
Now we mourn
what we never saw,
a quiet soul
crushed
beneath the weight
of a culture
that wears cruelty
like a trend,
and calls silence
strength.
