When the Music Stops

“Why are you always listening to music?” Maybe because silence
 is too loud. Maybe because when the music stops,
the voices start. The ones that whisper 
“No one cares.”
 “You’re annoying.”
 “You talk too much.”
 “You ruin everything.” And after hearing it enough times
 from everyone else,
the voice starts sounding like my own. So I keep my headphones in, 
like armor.
 Like if I drown the world out first,
maybe it can’t hurt me as badly. Because people think words don’t hit hard, 
just because they can’t see the bruises. But I feel every single one. Every eye roll .
Every “shut up.” 
Every sigh when I walk into a room 
like my existence alone
 is exhausting. And I just stand there
 taking it. 
Holding it. 
Swallowing every piece of hurt
 until it settles heavy in my chest. I became a punching bag
for everyone’s anger,
everyone’s bad days,
everyone’s cruelty—
verbal or not. And I let it happen
because I’m scared
 that if I finally let myself feel it all,
I’ll break so badly
I won’t know how to come back from it. So instead,
I press play.
I let the music speak for me 
because it says the things 
I’m too afraid to admit out loud. That I’m tired.
 That I’m hurting. 
That I want someone to notice
 I’m barely holding myself together.