The Heart Beneath

Not the mask they see,

but the breath that fogs it.

Not the climb,

but the knee that bruised at the base.

You wear your silence like armor

but your softness sings underneath

a low, steady hum

only the brave ones hear.

The heart above

has cracked and called it courage.

The heart beneath

never needed a name.

It just keeps teaching.

Keeps showing up.

Keeps stitching sacred into skin

no matter how many times it’s torn.

You are the cathedral

built from splinters.

The love letter

written in ash.

Not everyone will recognize the architecture.

But the ones who do

will swear they’ve been praying there for years.

So keep swinging.

Keep sipping.

Keep writing the story that wanted to be you.

The heart beneath remembers.

Even when the world forgets.